'ft  if\(J  M 

MAIN; 


OR, 


SOUTHERN  LIFE  AS  IT  IS. 


BY  MRS    MA±IY;H.:  EASTMAN; 


1852. 


AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN; 


OR, 


SOUTHERN  LIFE  AS  IT  IS, 


BY 


MRS.  MARY  H.  EASTMAN. 


TENTH  THOUSAND. 


PHILADELPHIA: 
LIPPINCOTT,    GRAMBO   &   CO. 

1852. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by 

LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO. 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  for  the  Eastern  District  of 
Pennsylvania. 


PEEFACB. 


A  WRITER  on  Slavery  has  no  difficulty  in  tracing  back  its 
origin.  There  is  also  the  advantage  of  finding  it,  with  its  con- 
tinued history,  and  the  laws  given  by  God  to  govern  his  own  in- 
stitution, in  the  Holy  Bible.  Neither  profane  history,  tradition, 
nor  philosophical  research  are  required  to  prove  its  origin  or 
existence;  though  they,  as  all  things  must,  come  forward  to  sub- 
stantiate the  truth  of  the  Scriptures.  God,  who  created  the 
human  race,  willed  they  should  be  holy  like  himself.  Sin  was  com- 
mitted, and  the  curse  of  sin,  death,  was  induced :  other  punish- 
ments were  denounced  for  the  perpetration  of  particular  crimes 
— the  shedding  of  man's  blood  for  murder,  and  the  curse  of 
slavery.  The  mysterious  reasons  that  here  influenced  the  mind 
of  the  Creator  it  is  not  ours  to  declare.  Yet  may  we  learn 
enough  from  his  revealed  word  on  this  and  every  other  subject 
to  confirm  his  power,  truth,  and  justice.  There  is  no  Christian 
duty  more  insisted  upon  in  Scripture  than  reverence  and  obe- 
dience to  parents.  "  Honor  thy  father  and  thy  mother,  that  thy 
days  may  be  long 'in  the  land  which  the  Lord  thy  God  giveth 
thee."  The  relation  of  child  to  parent  resembles  closely  that  of 
man  to  his  Creator.  He  who  loves  and  honors  his  God  will 
assuredly  love  and  honor  his  parents.  Though  it  is  evidently 
the  duty  of  every  parent  so  to  live  as  to  secure  the  respect  and 
affection  of  his  child,  yet  there  is  nothing  in  the  Scriptures  to 

411449 


12" •  «'•'  .* ,'«',' ' , •'  //«£RfiFACE. 

authorize  a  child  treating  with  disrespect  a  parent,  though  he  be 
unworthy  in  the  greatest  degree. 

The  human  mind,  naturally  rebellious,  requires  every  com- 
mand and  incentive  to  submission.  The  first  of  the  ten  com- 
mandments, insisting  on  the  duty  owing  to  the  Creator,  and  the 
fifth,  on  that  belonging  to  our  parents,  are  the  sources  of  all 
order  and  good  arrangement  in  the  minor  relations  of  life;  and 
on  obedience  to  them  depends  the  comfort  of  society. 

Reverence  to  age,  and  especially  where  it  is  found  in  the  per- 
son of  those  who  by  the  will  of  God  were  the  authors  .of  their 
being,  is  insisted  upon  in  the  Jewish  covenant — not  indeed  less 
required  now;  but  as  the  Jews  were  called  from  among  the 
heathen  nations  of  the  earth  to  be  the  peculiar  people  of  God, 
they  were  to  show  such  evidences  of  this  law  in  their  hearts,  by 
their  conduct,  that  other  nations  might  look  on  and  say,  "  Ye  are 
the  children  of  the  Lord  your  God." 

It  was  after  an  act  of  a  child  dishonoring  an  aged  father, 
that  the  prophecy  entailing  slavery  as  a  curse  on  a  portion  of  the 
human  race  was  uttered.  Nor  could  it  have  been  from  any 
feeling  of  resentment  or  revenge  that  the  curse  was  made  known 
by  the  lips  of  a  servant  of  God ;  for  this  servant  of  God  was  a 
parent,  and  with  what  sorrow  would  any  parent,  yea,  the  worst 
of  parents,  utter  a  malediction  which  insured  such  punishment 
and  misery  on  a  portion  of  his  posterity !  Even  the  blessing  which 
was  promised  to  his  other  children  could  not  have  consoled  him 
for  the  sad  necessity.  He  might  not  resist  the  Spirit  of  God : 
though  with  perfect  submission  he  obeyed  its  dictates,  yet  with 
what  regret !  The  heart  of  any  Christian  parent  will  answer 
this  appeal ! 

We  may  well  imagine  some  of  the  reasons  for  the  will  of  God 
in  thus  punishing  Ham  and  his  descendants.  Prior  to  the  un- 


PREFACE.  13 

filial  act  which  is  recorded,  it  is  not  to  be  supposed  he  had  been 
a  righteous  man.  Had  he  been  one  after  God's  own  heart,  he 
would  not  have  been  guilty  of  such  a  sin.  What  must  that 
child  be,  who  would  openly  dishonor  and  expose  an  erring  pa- 
rent, borne  down  with  the  weight  of  years,  and  honored  by 
God  as  Noah  had  been !  The  very  act  of  disrespect  to  Noah,  the 
chosen  of  God,  implies  wilful  contempt  of  God  himself.  Ham 
was  not  a  young  man  either :  he  had  not  the  excuse  of  the  impe- 
tuosity of  youth,  nor  its  thoughtlessness — he  was  himself  an  old 
man ;  and  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  he  had  led  a  life  at 
variance  with  God's  laws.  When  he  committed  so  gross  and 
violent  a  sin,  it  may  be,  that  the  curse  of  God,  which  had  lain 
tranquil  long,  was  roused  and  uttered  against  him :  a  curse 
not  conditional,  not  implied — now,  as  then,  a  mandate  of  the 
Eternal. 

Among  the  curses  threatened  by  the  Levites  upon  Mount 
Ebal,  was  the  one  found  in  the  16th  verse  of  the  27th  chapter  of 
Deuteronomy  :  "  Cursed  be  he  that  setteth  light  by  his  father  or 
his  mother."  By  the  law  of  Moses,  this  sin  was  punished  with 
death :  "  Of  the  son  which  will  not  obey  the  voice  of  his  father 
or  the  voice  of  his  mother,"  "  all  the  men  of  his  city  shall  stone 
him  with  stones  that  he  die."  (Deut.  xxi.  21.)  God  in  his  wis- 
dom instituted  this  severe  law  in  early  times ;  and  it  must  con- 
vince us  that  there  were  reasons  in  the  Divine  mind  for  insisting 
on  the  ordinance  exacting  the  most  perfect  submission  and  re- 
verence to  an  earthly  parent. 

"  When,  after  the  deluge,"  says  Josephus,  "  the  earth  was 
settled  in  its  former  condition,  Noah  set  about  its  cultivation ; 
and  when  he  had  planted  it  with  vines,  and  when  the  fruit  was 
ripe,  and  he  had  gathered  the  grapes  in  the  season,  and  the  wine 
was  ready  for  use,  he  offered  a  sacrifice  and  feasted,  and,  being 


14  PREFACE. 

inebriated,  fell  asleep,  and  lay  in  an  unseemly  manner.  When 
Hani  saw  this,  he  came  laughing,  and  showed  him  to  his 
brothers."  Does  not  this  exhibit  the  impression  of  the  Jews  as 
regards  the  character  of  Ham  ?  Could  a  man  capable  of  such  an 
act  deserve  the  blessing  of  a  just  and  holy  God  ? 

"  The  fact  of  Noah's  transgression  is  recorded  by  the  inspired 
historian  with  that  perfect  impartiality  which  is  peculiar  to  the 
Scriptures,  as  an  instance  and  evidence  of  human  frailty  and  im- 
perfection. Ham  appears  to  have  been  a  bad  man,  and  probsftly 
he  rejoiced  to  find  his  father  in  so  unbecoming  a  situation,  that, 
by  exposing  him,  he  might  retaliate  for  the  reproofs  which  he  had 
received  from  his  parental  authority.  And  perhaps  Canaan  first 
discovered  his  situation,  and  told  it  to  Ham.  The  conduct  of 
Ham  in  exposing  his  father  to  his  brethren,  and  their  behaviour 
in  turning  away  from  the  sight  of  his  disgrace,  form  a  striking 
contrast." — Scott's  Com. 

We  are  told  in  Gen.  ix.  22,  "  And  Ham,  the  father  of  Ca- 
naan, saw  the  nakedness  of  his  father,  and  told  his  two  brethren 
without;"  and  in  the  24th,  25th,  26th,  and  27th  verses  we  read, 
"And  Noah  awoke  from  his  wine,  and  knew  what  his  younger  son 
had  done  unto  him ;  and  he  said,  Cursed  be  Canaan,  a  servant  of 
servants  shall  he  be  unto  his  brethren.  And  he  said,  Blessed  be 
the  Lord  God  of  Shem,  and  Canaan  shall  be  his  servant.  God 
shall  enlarge  Japheth,  and  he  shall  dwell  in  the  tents  of  Shem, 
and  Canaan  shall  be  his  servant."  Is  it  not  preposterous  that  any 
man,  any  Christian,  should  read  these  verses  and  say  slavery  was 
not  instituted  by  God  as  a  curse  on  Ham  and  Canaan  and  their 
posterity  ? 

And  who  can  read  the  history  of  the  world  and  say  this  curse 
has  not  existed  ever  since  it  was  uttered  ? 

"The  whole  continent  of  Africa,"  says  Bishop  Newton,  "was 


PREFACE.  15 

peopled  principally  by  the  descendants  of  Ham;  and  for  how 
many  ages  have  the  better  parts  of  that  country  lain  under  the 
dominion  of  the  Romans,  then  of  the  Saracens,  and  now  of  the 
Turks !  In  what  wickedness,  ignorance,  barbarity,  slavery,  mi- 
sery, live  most  of  the  inhabitants  !  And  of  the  poor  negroes,  how 
many  hundreds  every  year  are  sold  and  bought  like  beasts  in  the 
market,  and  conveyed  from  one  quarter  of  the  world  to  do  the 
work  of  beasts  in  another !" 

But  does  this  curse  authorize  the  slave-trade  ?  God  .forbid. 
He  commanded  the  Jews  to  enslave  the  heathen  around  them, 
saying,  "they  should  be  their  bondmen  forever;"  but  he  has 
given  no  such  command  to  other  nations.  The  threatenings  and 
reproofs  uttered  against  Israel,  throughout  the  old  Testament,  on 
the  subject  of  slavery,  refer  to  their  oppressing  and  keeping  in 
slavery  their  own  countrymen.  Never  is  there  the  slightest  impu- 
tation of  sin,  as  far  as  I  can  see,  conveyed  against  them  for  hold- 
ing in  bondage  the  children  of  heathen  nations. 

Yet  do  the  Scriptures  evidently  permit  slavery,  5ven  to  the 
present  time.  The  curse  on  the  serpent,  ("  And  the  Lord  God 
said  unto  the  serpent,  Because  thou  hast  done  this,  thou  art 
cursed  above  all  cattle  and  above  every  beast  of  the  field/') 
uttered  more  than  sixteen  hundred  years  before  the  curse  of  Noah 
upon  Ham  and  his  race,  has  lost  nothing  of  its  force  and  true 
meaning.  "  Cursed  is  the  ground  for  thy  sake  :  in  sorrow  shalfc 
thou  eat  of  it,  all  the  days  of  thy  life,"  said  the  Supreme  Being. 
Has  this  curse  failed  or  been  removed  ? 

Kemember  the  threatened  curses  of  God  upon  the  whole 
lewish  tribe  if  they  forsook  his  worship.  Have  not  they  been 
fulfilled? 

However  inexplicable  may  be  the  fact  that  God  would  appoint 
the  curse  of  continual  servitude  on  a  portion  of  his  creatures, 


16  PREFACE. 

will  any  one  dare,  with  the  Bible  open  in  his  hands,  to  say  the 
fact  does  not  exist  ?  It  is  not  ours  to  decide  why  the  Supreme 
Being  acts !  We  may  observe  his  dealings  with  man,  but  we 
may  not  ask,  until  he  reveals  it,  Why  hast  thou  thus  done  ? 

"  Cursed  is  every  one  who  loves  not  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ/' 
Are  not  all  these  curses  recorded,  and  will  they  not  all  be  fulfilled  ? 
God  has  permitted  slavery  to  exist  in  every  age  and  in  almost 
every  nation  of  the  earth.  It  was  only  commanded  to  the  Jews, 
and  it  was  with  them  restricted  to  the  heathen,  ("  referring  en- 
tirely to  the  race  of  Ham,  who  had  been  judicially  condemned 
to  a  condition  of  servitude  more  than  eighteen  hundred  years 
before  the  giving  of  the  law,  by  the  mouth  of  Noah,  the  medium 
of  the  Holy  Ghost.")  No  others,  at  least,  were  to  be  enslaved 
"  forever."  Every  book  of  the  Old  Testament  records  a  history 
in  which  slaves  and  God's  laws  concerning  them  are  spoken  of, 
while,  as  far  as  profane  history  goes  back,  we  cannot  fail  to  see 
proofs  of  the  existence  of  slavery.  "  No  legislator  of  history," 
says  Voltaire,  "  attempted  to  abrogate  slavery.  Society  was  so 
accustomed  to  this  degradation  of  the  species,  that  Epictetus, 
who  was  assuredly  worth  more  than  his  master,  never  expresses 
any  surprise  at  his  being  a  slave."  Egypt,  Sparta,  Athens,  Car- 
thage, and  Rome  had  their  thousands  of  slaves.  In  the  Bible, 
the  best  and  chosen  servants  of  God  owned  slaves,  while  in  pro- 
fane history  the  purest  and  greatest  men  did  the  same.  In  the 
very  nation  over  whose  devoted  head  hung  the  curse  of  God, 
slavery,  vindictive,  lawless,  and  cruel  slavery,  has  prevailed.  It 
is  said  no  nation  of  the  earth  has  equalled  the  Jewish  in  the 
enslaving  of  negroes,  except  the  negroes  themselves ;  and  exami- 
nation will  prove  that  the  descendants  of  Ham  and  Canaan  have, 
as  God  foresaw,  justified  by  their  conduct  the  doom  which  he 
pronounced  against  them. 


PREFACE.  17 

But  it  has  been  contended  that  the  people  of  God  sinned  in 
holding  their  fellow-creatures  in  bondage !  Open  your  Bible, 
Christian,  and  read  the  commands  of  God  as  regards  slavery — the 
laws  that  he  made  to  govern  the  conduct  of  the  master  and  the 
slave  I 

But  again — we  live  under  the  glorious  and  new  dispensation 
of  Christ;  and  He  came  to  establish  God's  will,  and  to  confirm 
such  laws  as  were  to  continue  in  existence,  to  destroy  such  rules 
as  were  not  to  govern  our  lives  ! 

When  there  was  but  one  family  upon  the  earth,  a  portion  of 
the  family  was  devoted  to  be  slaves  to  others.  God  made  a 
covenant  with  Abraham  :  he  included  in  it  his  slaves.  "  He  that 
is  born  in  thy  house,  and  he  that  is  bought  with  thy  money," 
are  the  words  of  Scripture.  A  servant  of  Abraham  says,  "  And 
the  Lord  has  blessed  my  master  greatly,  and  he  is  become  great, 
and  he  hath  given  him  flocks  and  herds,  and  silver  and  gold,  and 
men-servants  and  maid-servants,  and  camels  and  asses." 

The  Lord  has  called  himself  the  God  of  Abraham  and1  Isaac 
and  Jacob.  These  holy  men  were  slaveholders  ! 

The  existence  of  slavery  then,  and  the  sanction  of  God  on  his 
own  institution,  is  palpable  from  the  time  of  the  pronouncing  of 
the  curse,  until  the  glorious  advent  of  the  Son  of  God.  When 
he  came,  slavery  existed  in  every  part  of  the  world. 

Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  came  from  heaven  and  dwelt 
upon  the  earth :  his  mission  to  proclaim  the  will  of  God  to  a 
world  sunk  in  the  lowest  depths  of  iniquity.  Even  the  dear  and 
chosen  people  of  God  had  departed  from  him — had  forsaken  his 
worship,  and  turned  aside  from  his  commands. 

He  was  born  of  a  virgin.  He  was  called  Emmanuel.  He 
was  God  with  us. 

Wise  men  traveled  from  afar  to  behold  the  Child-God — they 

2* 


18  PREFACE. 

knelt  before  him — they  opened  their  treasures — they  presented  to 
them  gifts.  Angels  of  God  descended  in  dreams,  to  ensure  the 
protection  of  his  life  against  the  king  who  sought  it.  He 
emerged  from  infancy,  and  grew  in  favour  with  God  and  man. 
He  was  tempted  but  not  overcome — angels  came  again  from 
heaven  to  minister  to  him.  He  fulfilled  every  jot  and  tittle  of 
the  law,  and  entered  upon  the  duties  for  which  he  left  the  glories 
of  heaven. 

That  mission  was  fulfilled.  "  The  people  which  sat  in  dark- 
ness saw  great  light,  and  to  them  which  sat  in  the  region  and 
shadow  of  death  light  is  sprung  up." 

Look  at  his  miracles — the  cleansing  of  the  leper,  the  healing 
of  the  sick,  the  casting  out  unclean  spirits,  the  raising  of  the 
dead,  the  rebuking  of  the  winds  and  seas,  the  control  of  those 
possessed  with  devils — and  say,  was  he  not  the  Son  of  God — yea, 
was  he  not  God  ? 

Full  of  power  and  goodness  he  came  into  the  world,  and  light 
and  glory  followed  every  footstep.  The  sound  of  his  voice,  the 
glance  of  his  eye,  the  very  touch  of  the  garment  in  which  his 
assumed  mortality  was  arrayed,  was  a  medicine  mighty  to  save. 
He  came  on  an  errand  of  mercy  to  the  world,  and  he  was  all 
powerful  to  accomplish  the  Divine  intent;  but,  did  he  eman- 
cipate the  slave  ?  The  happiness  of  the  human  race  was  the 
object  of  his  coming;  and  is  it  possible  that  the  large  portion  of 
them  then  slaves  could  have  escaped  his  all-seeing  eye  !  Did  he 
condemn  the  institution  which  he  had  made  ?  Did  he  establish 
universal  freedom  ?  Oh !  no ;  he  came  to  redeem  the  world  from 
the  power  of  sin;  his  was  no  earthly  mission;  he  did  not  inter- 
fere with  the  organization  of  society.  He  healed  the  sick  servant 
of  the  centurion,  but  he  did  not  command  his  freedom ;  nor  is  there 
a  word  that  fell  from  his  sacred  lips  that  could  be  construed  into 


PREFACE.  19 

a  condemnation  of  that  institution  which  had  existed  from  the 
early  ages  of  the  world,  existed  then,  and  is  continued  now.  The 
application  made  by  the  Abolitionist  of  the  golden  rule  is  absurd  : 
it  might  then  apply  to  the  child,  who  would  have  his  father  no 
longer  control  him;  to  the  appentice,  who  would  no  longer  that 
the  man  to  whom  he  is  bound  should  have  a  right  to  direct  him. 
Thus  the  foundations  of  society  would  be  shaken,  nay,  destroyed. 
Christ  would  have  us  deal  with  others,  not  as  they  desire,  but 
as  the  law  of  God  demands:  in  the  condition  of  life  in  which 
we  have  been  placed,  we  must  do  what  we  conscientiously  believe 
to  be  our  duty  to  our  fellow-men. 

Christ  alludes  to  slavery,  but  does  not  forbid  it.  "And  the 
servant  abideth  not  in  the  house  forever,  but  the  son  abideth 
ever.  If  the  Son  therefore  shall  make  you  free,  you  are  free 
indeed/' 

In  these  two  verses  of  the  Gospel  of  St.  John,  there  is  a  ma- 
nifest allusion  to  the  fact  and  condition  of  slaves.  Of  this  fact  the 
Saviour  took  occasion,  to  illustrate,  by  way  of  similitude,  the  con- 
dition of  a  wicked  man,  who  is  the  slave  of  sin,  and  to  show  that 
as  a  son  who  was  the  heir  in  a  house  could  set  a  bondman  free, 
if  that  son  were  of  the  proper  age,  so  he,  the  Son  of  God,  could 
set  the  enslaved  soul  free  from  sin,  when  he  would  be  free  in- 
deed." Show  me  in  the  history  of  the  Old  Testament,  or  in  the 
life  of  Christ,  authority  to  proclaim  as  a  sin  the  holding  of  the 
race  of  Ham  and  Canaan  in  bondage. 

In  the  times  of  the  apostles,  what  do  we  see  ?  Slaves  are  still 
in  bondage,  the  children  of  Ham  are  menials  as  they  were  before. 
Christ  had  come,  had  died,  had  ascended  to  heaven,  and  slavery 
still  existed.  Had  the  apostles  authority  to  do  it  away  ?  Had 
Christ  left  it  to  them  to  carry  out,  in  this  instance,  his  revealed 
will? 


20  PREFACE. 

"Art  thou,"  said  Paul,  "  called  being  a  slave  ?  care  not  for  it ; 
but  if  thou  mayest  be  made  free,  use  it  rather.  Let  every  man 
abide  in  the  same  calling  wherein  he  is  called."  "  Let  as  many 
servants  as  are  under  the  yoke  count  their  own  masters  worthy  of 
all  honor,  that  the  name  of  God  and  his  doctrines  be  not  blas- 
phemed. And  they  that  have  believing  masters,  let  them  not  des- 
pise them,  because  they  are  brethren,  but  rather  do  them  service, 
because  they  are  faithful  and  beloved,  partakers  of  the  benefit." 

It  is  well  known  and  often  quoted  that  the  holy  apostle  did  all 
he  could  to  restore  a  slave  to  his  master — one  whom  he  had  been 
the  means  of  making  free  in  a  spiritual  sense.  Yet  he  knew 
that  God  had  made  Onesimus  a  slave,  and,  wnen  he  had  fled  from 
his  master,  Paul  persuaded  him  to  return  and  to  do  his  duty 
toward  him.  Open  your  Bible,  Christian,  and  carefully  read  the 
letter  of  Paul  to.  Philemon,  and  contrast  its  spirit  with  the  in- 
cendiary publications  of  the  Abolitionists  of  the  present  day.  St. 
Paul  was  not  a  fanatic,  and  therefore  could  not  be  an  Abolitionist. 
The  Christian  age  advanced  and  slavery  continued,  and  we  ap- 
proach the  time  when  our  fathers  fled  from  persecution  to  the 
soil  we  now  call  our  own,  when  they  fought  for  the  liberty  to 
which  they  felt  they  had  a  right.  Our  fathers  fought  for  it,  and  our 
mothers  did  more  when  they  urged  forth  their  husbands  and  sons, 
not  knowing  whether  the  life-blood  that  was  glowing  with  reli- 
gion and  patriotism  would  not  soon  be  dyeing  the  land  that  had 
been  their  refuge,  and  where  they  fondly  hoped  they  should  find 
a  happy  home.  Oh,  glorious  parentage  !  Children  of  America, 
trace  no  farther  back — say  not  the  crest  of  nobility  once  adorned 
thy  father's  breast,  the  gemmed  coronet  thy  mother's  brow — stop 
here !  it  is  enough  that  they  earned  for  thee  a  home — a  free,  a 
happy  home.  And  what  did  they  say  to  the  slavery  that  existed 
then  and  had  been  entailed  upon  them  by  the  English  govern- 


PREFACE.  21 


ment?  Their  opinions  are  preserved  among  us — they  were  dic- 
tated by  their  position  and  necessities — and  they  were  wisely 
formed.  In  the  North,  slavery  was  useless ;  nay,  more,  it  was  a 
drawback  to  the  prosperity  of  that  section  of  the  Union — it 
was  dispensed  with.  In  other  sections,  gradually,  our  people 
have  seen  their  condition  would  be  more  prosperous  without 
slaves — they  have  emancipated  them.  In  the  South,  they  are  ne- 
cessary :  though  an  evil,  it  is  one  that  cannot  be  dispensed  with ; 
and  here  they  have  been  retained,  and  will  be  retained,  unless 
God  should  manifest  his  will  (which  never  yet  has  been  done)  to 
the  contrary.  Knowing  that  the  people  of  the  South  still  have 
the  views  of  thei»  revolutionary  forefathers,  we  see  plainly  that 
many  of  the  North  have  rejected  the  opinions  of  theirs.  Slaves 
were  at  the  North  and  South  considered  and  recognized  as  pro- 
perty, (as  they  are  in  Scripture.)  The  whole  nation  sanc- 
tioned slavery  by  adopting  the  Constitution  which  provides  for 
them,  and  for  their  restoration  (when  fugitive)  to  their  owners. 
Our  country  was  then  like  one  family — their  souls  had  been 
tried  and  made  pure  by  a  united  struggle— they  loved  as  bro- 
thers who  had  suffered  together.  Would  it  were  so  at  the 
present  day ! 

The  subject  of  slavery  was  agitated  among  them;  many  diffi- 
culties occurred,  but  they  were  all  settled — and,  they  thought, 
effectually.  They  agreed  then,  on  the  propriety  of  giving  up  run- 
away slaves,  unanimously.  Mr.  Sherman,  of  Connecticut,  "  saw  no 
more  impropriety  in  the  public  seizing  and  surrendering  a  slave  or 
servant  than  a  horse !"  (Madison's  Papers.)  This  was  then  consi- 
dered a  compromise  between  the  North  and  South.  Henry  Clay 
and  Daniel  Webster — the  mantle  of  their  illustrious  fathers  de- 
scended to  them  from  their  own  glorious  times.  The  slave-trade 
was  discontinued  after  a  while.  As  long  as  England  needed  the 


22  PREFACE. 


and  daughters  of  Africa  to  do  her  bidding,  she  trafficked  in 
the  flesh  and  blood  of  her  fellow- creatures ;  but  our  immortal  fa- 
thers put  an  end  to  the  disgraceful  trade.  They  saw  its  heinous 
sin,  for  they  had  no  command  to  enslave  the  heathen ;  but  they 
had  no  command  to  emancipate  the  slave ;  therefore  they  wisely 
forbore  farther  to  interfere.  They  drew  the  nice  line  of  distinc- 
tion between  an  unavoidable  evil  and  a  sin. 

Slavery  was  acknowledged,  and  slaves  considered  as  property 
all  over  our  country,  a-t  the  North  as  well  as  the  South — in  Penn- 
sylvania, New  York,  and  New  Jersey.  Now,  has  there  been  any 
law  reversing  this,  except  in  the  States  that  have  become  free? 
Out  of  the  limits  of  these  States,  slaves  are  property,  according  to 
the  Constitution.  In  the  year  1798,  Judge  Jay,  being  called 
on  for  a  list  of  his  taxable  property,  made  the  following  observa- 
tion:— "  I  purchase  slaves  and  manumit  them  at  proper  ages,  when 
their  faithful  services  shall  have  afforded  a  reasonable  retribu- 
tion." "As  free  servants  became  more  common,  he  was  gra- 
dually relieved  from  the  necessity  of  purchasing  slaves."  (See 
Jay's  Life,  by  his  son.) 

Here  is  the  secret  of  Northern  emancipation :  they  were  re- 
lieved from  the  necessity  of  slavery.  Rufus  King,  for  many  years 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  statesmen  of  the  country,  writes 
thus  to  John  B.  Coles  and  others : — "  I  am  perfectly  anxious  not 
to  be  misunderstood  in  this  case,  never  having  thought  myself  at 
liberty  to  encourage  or  assent  to  any  measure  that  would  affect 
the  security  of  property  in  slaves,  or  tend  to  disturb  the  political 
adjustment  which  the  Constitution  has  made  respecting  them." 

John  Taylor,  of  New  York,  said,  "  If  the  weight  and  influence 
of  the  South  be  increased  by  the  representation  of  that  which 
they  consider  a  part  of  their  property,  we  do  not  wish  to  diminish 
them.  The  right  by  which  this  property  is  held  is  derived 


PREFACE.  23 

from  the  Federal  Constitution ;  we  have  neither  inclination  nor 
power  to  interfere  with  the  laws  of  existing  States  in  this  particu- 
lar ;  on  the  contrary,  they  have  not  only  a  right  to  reclaim  their 
fugitives  whenever  found,  but,  in  the  event  of  domestic  violence, 
(which  God  in  his  mercy  forever  avert !)  the  whole  strength  of 
the  nation  is  bound  to  be  exerted,  if  needful,  in  reducing  it  to 
subjection,  while  we  recognize  these  obligations  and  will  never 
fail  to  perform  them." 

How  many  more  could  be  brought !  opinions  of  great  and 
good  men  of  the  North,  acknowledging  and  maintaining  the 
rights  of  the  people  of  the  South.  Everett,  Adams,  Cambreleng, 
and  a  host  of  others,  whose  names  I  need  not  give.  "Time 
was,"  said  Mr.  Fletcher  in  Boston,  (in  1835,  at  a  great  meet- 
ing in  that  city,)  "when  such  sentiments  and  such  language 
would  not  have  been  breathed  in  this  community.  And  here,  on 
this  hallowed  spot,  of  all  places  on  earth,  should  they  be  met  and 
rebuked.  Time  was,  when  the  British  Parliament  having  de- 
clared 'that  they  had  a  right  to  bind  us  in  all  cases  what- 
soever/ and  were  attempting  to  bind  our  infant  limbs  in  fetters, 
when  a  voice  of  resistance  and  notes  of  defiance  had  gone  forth 
from  this  hall,  then,  when  Massachussets,  standing  for  her  liber- 
ty and  life,  was  alone  breasting  the  whole  power  of  Britain,  the 
generous  and  gallant  Southerners  came  to  our  aid,  and  our 
ers  refused  not  to  hold  communion  with  slaveholders.  When 
the  blood  of  our  citizens,  shed  by  a  British  soldiery,  had  stained 
our  streets  and  flowed  upon  the  heights  that  surround  us,  and 
sunk  into  the  earth  upon  the  plains  of  Lexington  and  Concord, 
then  when  he,  whose  name  can  never  be  pronounced  by  American 
lips  without  the  strongest  emotion  of  gratitude  and  love  to  every 
American  heart, — when  he,  that  slaveholder,  (pointing  to  a  full- 
length  portrait  of  Washington,)  who,  from  this  canvass,  smiles 


24  PREFACE. 

upon  his  children  with  paternal  benignity,  came  with  other  slave- 
holders to  drive  the  British  myrmidons  from  this  city,  and  in  this 
hall  our  fathers  did  not  refuse  to  hold  communion  with  them. 

"  With  slaveholders  they  formed  the  confederation,  neither 
asking  nor  receiving  any  right  to  interfere  in  their  domestic  rela- 
tions :  with  them,  they  made  the  Declaration  of  Independence." 

To  England,  not  to  the  United  States,  belongs  whatever  odium 
may  be  attached  to  the  introduction  of  slavery  into  our  country. 
Our  fathers  abolished  the  slave-trade,  but  permitted  the  conti- 
nuation of  domestic  slavery. 

Slavery,  authorized  by  G-od,  permitted  by  Jesus  Christ,  sanc- 
tioned by  the  apostles,  maintained  by  good  men  of  all  ag\3S,  is 
still  existing  in  a  portion  of  our  beloved  country.     How  long  it 
f  will  continue,  or  whether  it  will  ever  cease,  the  Almighty  Ruler 
I  of  the  universe  can  alone  determine. 

I  do  not  intend  to  give  a  history  of  Abolition.  Born  in  fana- 
ticism, nurtured  in  violence  and  disorder,  it  exists  too.  Turning 
aside  the  institutions  and  commands  of  God,  treading  under  foot 
the  love  of  country,  despising  the  laws  of  nature  and  the  nation, 
it  is  dead  to  every  feeling  of  patriotism  and  brotherly  kindness ; 
full  of  strife  and  pride,  strewing  the  path  of  the  slave  with  thorns 
and  of  the  master  with  difficulties,  accomplishing  nothing  good, 
forever  creating  disturbance. 

The  negroes  are  still  slaves — "while  the  American  slave- 
holders, collectively  arid  individually,  ask  no  favours  of  any  man 
or  race  that  treads  the  earth.  In  none  of  the  attributes  of  men, 
mental  or  physical,  do  they  acknowledge  or  fear  superiority  else- 
w.here.  They  stand  in  the  broadest  light  of  the  knowledge,  civili- 
zation, and  improvement  of  the  age,  as  much  favored  of  Heaven 
as  any  other  of  the  sons  of  Adam." 


AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THERE  would  be  little  to  strike  the  eye  of  a  traveler 
accustomed  to  picturesque  scenes,  on  approaching  the 

small  town  of  L .  Like  most  of  the  settlements  in 

Virginia,  the  irregularity  of  the  streets  and  the  want  of 
similarity  in  the  houses  would  give  an  unfavorable  first 
impression.  The  old  Episcopal  church,  standing  at  the 
entrance  of  the  town,  could  not  fail  to  be  attractive  from 
its  appearance  of  age;  but  from  this  alone.  No  monu- 
ments adorn  the  churchyard ;  head-stones  of  all  sizes 
meet  the  eye,  some  worn  and  leaning  against  a  shrub  or 
tree  for  support,  others  new  arid  white,  and  glistening  in 
the  sunset.  Several  family  vaults,  unpretending  in  their 
appearance,  are  perceived  on  a  closer  scrutiny,  to  which 
the  plants  usually  found  in  burial-grounds  are  clinging, 
shadowed  too  by  large  trees.  The  walls  where  they  are 
visible  are  worn  and  discolored,  but  they  are  almost  co- 
vered with  ivy,  clad  in  summer's  deepest  green.  Many  a 
stranger  stopped  his  horse  in  passing  by  to  wonder  at  its 
look  of  other  days ;  and  some,  it  may  be,  to  wish  they  were 
sleeping  in  the  shades  of  its  mouldering  walls. 

The  slight  eminence  on  which  the  church  was  built, 
commanded  a  view  of  the  residences  of  several  gentlemen 

3  25 


26  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

of  fortune  who  lived  in  the  neighborhood.  To  the  near- 
est one,  a  gentleman  on  horseback  waS  directing  his 
way.  The  horse  required  no  direction,  in  truth,  for  so 
accustomed  was  he  to  the  ride  to  Exeter,  and  to  the  good 
fare  he  enjoyed  on  arriving  there,  that  neither  whip  nor 
spur  was  necessary;  he  traced  the  familiar  road  with 
evident  pleasure. 

The  house  at  Exeter  was  irregularly  built ;  but  the  white 
stone  wings  and  the  look-out  over  the  main  building  gave 
an  appearance  of  taste  to  the  mansion.  The  fine  old 
trees  intercepted  the  view,  though  adding  greatly  to  its 
beauty.  The  porter's  lodge,  and  the  wide  lawn  entered  by 
its  open  gates,  the  gardens  at  either  side  of  the  building, 
and  the  neatness  and  good  condition  of  the  out-houses, 
all  showed  a  prosperous  state  of  affairs  with  the  owner. 
Soon  the  large  porch  with  its  green,  blinds,  and  the  sweet- 
brier  entwining  them,  came  in  view,  and  the  family  party 
that  occupied  it  were  discernible.  Before  Mr.  Barbour 
had  reached  the  point  for  alighting  from  his  horse,  a  ser- 
vant stood  in  readiness  to  take  charge  of  him,  and  Alice 
Weston  emerged  from  her  hiding-place  among  the  roses, 
with  her  usual  sweet  words  of  welcome.  Mr.  Weston,  the 
owner  of  the  mansion  and  its  adjoining  plantation,  arose 
with  a  dignified  but  cordial  greeting ;  and  Mrs.  Weston,  his 
sister-in-law,  and  Miss  Janet,  united  with  him  in  his  kind 
reception  of  a  valued  guest  and  friend. 

Mr.  Weston  was  a  widower,  with  an  only  son ;  the  young 
gentleman  was  at  this 'time  at  Yale  College.  He  had 
been  absent  for  three  years;  and  so  anxious  was  he  to 
graduate  with  honor,  that  he  had  chosen  not  to  return  to 
Virginia  until  his  course  of  study  should  be  completed. 
The  family  had  visited  him  during  the  first  year  of  his 
exile,  as  he  called  it,  but  it  had  now  been  two  years  since 
he  had  seen  any  member  of  it.  There  was  an  engagement 
between  him  and  his  cousin,  though  Alice  was  but  fifteen 
when  it  was  formed.  They  had  been  associated  from  the 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  27 


earliest  period  of  their  lives,  and  Arthur  declared  that 
should  he  return  home  on  a  visit,  he  would  not  be  able  to 
break  away  from  its  happiness  to  the  routine  of  a  college 
life :  he  yielded  therefore  to  the  earnest  entreaties  of  his 
father,  to  remain  at  New  Haven  until  he  graduated. 

Mr.  Weston  will  stand  for  a  specimen  of  the  southern 
gentleman  of  the  old  school.  The  bland  and  cheerful  ex- 
pression of 'his  countenance,  the  arrangement  of  his  soft 
fine  hair,  the  fineness  of  the  texture  and  the  perfect  clean- 
liness of  every  part  of  his  dress,  the  plaiting  of  his  old- 
fashioned  shirt  ruffles,  the  whiteness  of  his  hand,  and  the 
sound  of  his  clear,  well-modulated  voice — in  fact,  every  item 
of  his  appearance — won  the  good  opinion  of  a  stranger ; 
while  the  feelings  of  his  heart  and  his  steady  course  of 
Christian  life,  made  him  honored  and  reverenced  as  he 
deserved.  He  possessed  that  requisite  to  the  character 
of  a  true  gentleman,  a  kind  and  charitable  heart. 

None  of  the  present  members  of  his  family  had  any 
lawful  claim  upon  him,  yet  he  cherished  them  with  the 
utmost  affection.  He  requested  his  brother's  widow,  on 
the  death  of  his  own  wife,  to  assume  the  charge  of  his 
house;  and  she  was  in  every  respect  its  mistress.  Alice 
was  necessary  to  his  happiness,  almost  to  his  existence  ; 
she  was  the  very  rose  in  his  garden  of  life.  He  had  never 
had  a  sister,  and  he  regarded  Alice  as  a  legacy  from  his 
only  brother,  to  whom  he  had  been  most  tenderly  attached : 
had  she  been  uninteresting,  she  would  still  have  been  very 
dear  to  him ;  but  her  beauty  and  her  many  graces  of  ap- 
pearance and  character  drew  closely  together  the  bonds 
of  love  between  them  ;  Alice  returning,  with  the  utmost 
warmth,  her  uncle's  affection. 

Mrs.  Weston  was  unlike  her  daughter  in  appearance, 
Alice  resembling  her  father's  family.  Her  dark,  fine  eyes 
were  still  full  of  the  fire  that  had  beamed  from  them  in 
youth ;  there  were  strongly-marked  lines  about  her  mouth, 
and  her  face  when  in  repose  bore  traces  of  the  warfare  of 


28  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


past  years.  The  heart  has  a  writing  of  its  own,  and  we 
can  see  it  on  the  countenance ;  time  has  no  power  to 
obliterate  it,  but  generally  deepens  the  expression.  There 
was  at  times  too  a  sternness  in  her  voice  and  manner,  yet 
it  left  no  unpleasant  impression ;  her  general  refinement, 
and  her  fine  sense  and  education  made  her  society  always 
desirable. 

Cousin  Janet,  as  she  was  called  by  them  all,  was  a  de- 
pendant and  distant  relation ;  a  friend  faithful  and  unfail- 
ing ;  a.  bright  example  of  all  that  is  holy  and  good  in  the 
Christian  character.  She  assisted  Mr*s.  Weston  greatly  in 
the  many  cares  that  devolved  on  the  mistress  of  a  planta- 
tion, especially  in  instructing  the  young  female  servants  in 
knitting  and  sewing,  and  in  such  household  duties  as  would 
make  them  useful  in  that  state  of  life  in  which  it  had 
pleased  God  to  place  them.  Her  heart  was  full  of  love^to 
all  God's  creatures;  the  servants  came  to  her  with  their 
little  ailings  and  grievances,  and  she  had  always  a  soothing 
remedy — some  little  specific  for  a  bodily  sickness,  with  a 
word  of  advice  and  kindness,  and,  if  the  case  required  it, 
of  gentle  reproof  for  complaints  of  another  nature.  Cousin 
Janet  was  an  old  maid,  yet  many  an  orphan  and  friendless 
child  had  shed  tears  upon  her  bosoin ;  some,,  whose  hands 
she  had  folded  together  in  prayer  as  they  knelt  beside  her, 
learning  from  her  lips  a  child's  simple  petition,  had  long 
ago  laid  down  to  sleep  for  ever ;  some  are  living  still,  sur- 
rounded by  the  halo  of  their  good  influence.  There  was 
one,  of  whom  we  shall  speak  by-and-by,  who  was  to  her  a 
source  of  great  anxiety,  and  the  constant  subject  of  her 
thoughts  and  fervent  prayers. 

Many  years  had  gone  by  since  she  had  accepted  Mr. 
Weston's  earnest  entreaty  to  make  Exeter  her  home ;  and 
although  the  bread  she  eat  was  that  of  charity,  yet  she 
brought  a  blessing  upon  the  house  that  sheltered  her,  by 
her  presence  :  she  was  one  of  the  chosen  ones  of  the  Lord. 
Even  in  this  day,  it  is  possible  to  entertain  an  angel  ua- 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  29 


awares.  She  is  before  you,  reader,  in  all  the  dignity  of  old 
age,  of  a  long  life  drawing  to  a  close ;  still  to  the  last,  she 
works  while  it  is  yet  day ! 

With  her  dove-colored  dress,  and  her  muslin  three-cor- 
nered, handkerchief,  pinned  precisely  at  the  waist  and  over 
her  bosom,  with  her  eyes  sunken  and  dim,  but  expressive, 
with  the  wrinkles  so  many  and  so  deep,  and  the  thin,  white 
folds  of  her  satin-looking  hair  parted  under  her  cap;  with 
her  silver  knitting-sheath  attached  to  her  side,  and  her 
needles  in  ever  busy  hands,  Cousin  Janet  would  perhaps 
first  arrest  the  attention  of  a  stranger,  in  spite  of  the 
glowing  cheek  and  golden  curls  that  were  contrasting  with 
her.  It  was  the  beauty  of  old  age  and  youth,  side  by  side. 
Alice's  face  in  its  full  perfection  did  not  mar  the  loveliness 
of  hers  ;  the  violet  eyes  of  the  one,  with  their  long  sweep 
of  eyelash,  could  not  eclipse  the  mild  but  deep  expression 
of  the  other.  The  rich  burden  of  glossy  hair  was  lovely, 
but  so  were  the  white  locks ;  and  the  slight  but  rounded 
form  was  only  compared  in  its  youthful  grace  to  the  almost 
shadowy  dignity  of  old  age. 

It  was  just  sundown,  but  the  servants  were  all  at  home 
after  their  day's  work,  and  they  too  were  enjoying  the 
pleasant  evening  time.  Some  were  seated  at  the  door  of 
their  cabins,  others  lounging  on  the  grass,  all  at  ease,  and 
without  care.  Many  of  their  comfortable  cabins  had  been 
recently  whitewashed,  and  were  adorned  with  little  gar- 
dens in  front ;  over  the  one  nearest  the  house  a  multiflora 
rose  was  creeping  in  full  bloom.  Singularly  musical  voices 
were  heard  at  intervals,  singing  snatches  of  songs,  of  a 
style  in  which  the  servants  of  the  South  especially  delight ; 
and  not  unfrequently,  as  the  full  chorus  was  shouted  by  a 
number,  their  still  more  peculiar  laugh  was  heard  above  it 
all.  Mr.  Barbour  had  recently  returned  from  a  pleasure 
tour  in  our  Northern  States,  had  been  absent  for  two 
months,  and  felt  that  he  had  not  in  as  long  a  time  wit- 
nessed such  a  scene  of  real  enjoyment.  He  thought  it 


30  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR. 

would  have  softened  the  heart  of  the  sternest  hater  of 
Southern  institutions  to  have  been  a  spectator  here ;  it 
might  possibly  have  inclined  him  to  think  the  sun  of  his 
Creator's  beneficence  shines  over  every  part  of  our  favored 
land. 

"Take  a  seat,  my  dear  sir,"  Mr.  Weston  said,  "in  our 
sweetbrier  house,  as  Alice  calls  it ;  the  evening  would  lose 
half  its  beauty  to  us,  if  we  were  within." 

"Alice  is  always  right,"  said  Mr.  Barbour,  "in  every 
thing  she  says  and  does,  and  so  I  will  occupy  this  arm- 
chair that  I  know  she  placed  here  for  me.  Dear  me !  what  a 
glorious  evening !  Those  distant  peaks  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
look  bluer  than  I  ever  saw  them  before." 

"Ah!  you  are  glad  to  tread  Virginia  soil  once  more, 
that  is  evident  enough,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "There  is 
no  danger  of  your  getting  tired  of  your  native  state 
again." 

"  Who  says  I  was  ever  tired  of  her  ?  I  challenge  you 
to  prove  your  insinuation.  I  wanted  to  see  this  great 
New  England,  the  <  great  Norrurd,'  as  Bacchus  calls  it, 
and  I  have  seen  it ;  I  have  enjoyed  seeing  it,  too;  and  now 
I  am  glad  to  be  at  home  again." 

"Here  comes  Uncle  Bacchus  now,  Mr.  Barbour,"  said 
Alice  ;  "do  look  at  him  walk.  Is  he  not  a  curiosity  ? 
He  has  as  much  pretension  in  his  manner  as  if  he  were 
really  doing  us  a  favor  in  paying  us  a  visit." 

"The  old  scamp,"  said  Mr.  Barbour,  "he  has  a  frolic 
in  view ;  he  wants  to  go  off  to-morrow  either  to  a  camp- 
meeting,  or  a  barbecue.  He  looks  as  if  he  were  hooked 
together,  and  could  be  taken  apart  limb  by  limb." 

Bacchus  had  commenced  bowing  some  time  before  he 
reached  the  piazza,  but  on  ascending  the  steps  he  made 
a  particularly  low  bow  to  his  master,  and  theft  in  the  same 
manner,  though  with  much  less  reverence,  paid  his  respects 
to  the  others.  "./• 

"Well,  Bacchus?"  said  Mr.  Weston. 


SOUTHERN    LIFE  AS   IT   IS.  31 


«  How  is  yer  health  dis  evenin,  master  ?  You  aint  been 
so  well  latterly.  We'll  soon  have  green  corn  though, 
and  that  helps  dispepsy  wonderful." 

"It  may  be  good  for  dyspepsia,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  "but  it  sometimes  gives  old  people  cholera morbus, 
when  they  eat  it  raw ;  so  I  advise  you  to  remember  last 
year's  experience,  and  roast  it  before  you  eat  it." 

« I  shall,  indeed/'  replied  Bacchus ;  "  'twas  an  awful  time 
I  had  last  summer.  My  blessed  grief !  but  I  thought  my 
time  was  done  come.  But  de  Lord  was  mighty  good  to  me,  he 
brought  me  up  again — Miss  Janet's  physic  done  me  more 
good  though  than  any  thing,  only  it  put  me  to  sleep,  and 
I  never  slept  so  much  in  my  born  days." 

"You  were  always  something  of  a  sleeper,  I  am 
told,  Bacchus,"  said  Cousin  Janet;  "though  I  have  no 
doubt  the  laudanum  had  that  effect ;  you  must  be  more 
prudent;  old  people  cannot  take  such  liberties  with  them- 
selves." 

"  Lor,  Miss  Janet,  I  aint  so  mighty  ole  now ;  besure  I 
aint  no  chicken  nother;  but  thar's  Aunt  Peggy;  she's 
what  I  call  a  raal  ole  nigger ;  she's  an  African.  Miss 
Alice,  aint  she  never  told  you  bout  de  time  she  seed  an 
elerphant  drink  a  river  dry?" 

"Yes,"  said  Alice,  "but  she  dreamed  that." 

"  No,  Miss,  she  actually  .seed  it  wid  her  own  eyes. 
They's  mighty  weak  and  dim  now,  but  she  could  see  out 
of  'em  once,  I  tell  ye.  It's  hot  nuff  here  sometimes,  but 
Aunt  Peggy  says  it's  winter  to  what  'tis  in  Guinea,  whar 
she  was  raised  till  she  was  a  big  gall.  One  day  when  de 
sun  was  mighty  strong,  she  seed  an  elerphant  a  comin 
along.  She  runned  fast  enough,  she  had  no  'casion  to 
grease  her  heels  wid  quicksilver ;  she  went  mighty  fast,  no 
doubt ;  she  didn't  want  dat  great  beast's  hoof  in  her  wool. 
You  and  me  seed  an  elerphant  de  time  we  was  in  Wash- 
ington, long  wid  master,  Miss  Alice,  and  I  thought  'bout 
Aunt  Peggy  that  time.  'Twas  a  'nageree  we  went  to.  You 


32  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

know  I  held  you  in  my  arms  over  de  people's  heads  to  see 
de  monkeys  ride. 

"Well,  Aunt  Peggy  say  she  runned  till  she  couldn't  run 
no  longer,  so  she  clumb  a  great  tree,  and  sat  in  de 
branches  and  watched  him.  He  made  straight  for  de 
river,  and  he  kicked  up  de  sand  wid  his  hoofs,  as  he  went 
along,  till  he  come  to  de  bank ;  den  he  begins  to  drink, 
and  he  drinks,  I  tell  you.  Aunt  Peggy  say  every  swaller 
he  took  was  least  a  gallon,  and  he  drunk  all  dat  blessed 
mornin.  After  a  while  she  seed  de  water  gitting  very 
low,  and  last  he  gits  enuff.  He  must  a  got  his  thirst 
squinched  by  dat  time.  So  Aunt  Peggy,  she  waded  cross 
de  river,  when  de  elephant  had  went,  and  two  days  arter 
dat,  de  river  was  clean  gone,  bare  as  my  hand.  Master," 
continued  Bacchus,  "I  has  a  great  favor  to  ax  of  you." 

" Barbecue  or  campmeeting,  Bacchus?"  said  Mr.  Bar- 
bour. 

"If  you  please,  master,"  said  he,  addressing  Mr.  Wes- 
ton,  but  at  the  same  time  giving  an  imploring  look  to  Mr. 
Barbour,  "'to  'low  me  to  go  way  to-morrow  and  wait  at  de 
barbecue.  Mr.  Semmes,  he  wants  me  mightily ;  he  says 
he'll  give  me  a  dollar  a  day  if  I  goes.  I'll  sure  and  be 
home  agin  in  the  evenin." 

"lam  afraid  to  give  you  permission,"  said  Mr.  Wes- 
ton  ;  "  this  habit  of  drinking,  that  is  growing  upon  you,  is 
a  disgrace  to  your  old  age.  You  remember  you  were 
picked  up  and  brought  home  in  a  cart  from  campmeeting 
this  summer,  and  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  so  soon 
ask  a  favor  of  me." 

"I  feels  mighty  shamed  o'  that,  sir,"  said  Bacchus, 
"  but  I  hope  you  will  'scuse  it.  Niggers  aint  like  white 
people,  no  how ;  they  can't  'sist  temptation.  I've  repented 
wid  tears  for  dat  business,  and  'twont  happen  agin,  if  it 
please  the  Lord  not  to  lead  me  into  temptation." 

"You  led  yourself  into  temptation,"  said  Mr.  Weston; 
«  you  took  pains  to  cross  two  or  three  fences,  and  to  go 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  -AS   IT   IS.  33 


round  by  Norris's  tavern,  when,  if  you  had  chosen,  you 
could  have  come  home  by  the  other  road." 

"  True  as  gospel,  ma'am,"  said  Bacchus,  "  I  don't  deny 
de  furst  word  of  it ;  the  Lord  forgive  me  for  backsliding ; 
but  master's  mighty  good  to  us,  and  if  he'll  overlook  that 
little  misfortune  of  mine,  it  shan't  happen  agin." 

"  You  call  it  a  misfortune,  do  you,  Bacchus  ?"  said  Mr. 
Barbour ;  "  why,  it  seems  to  me  such  a  great  Christian  as 
you  are,  would  have  given  the  right  name  to  it,  and  called 
it  a  sin.  I  am  told  you  are  turned  preacher  ?" 

"  No,  sir,"  said  Bacchus,  "  I  aint  no  preacher,  I  warn't 
called  to  be ;  I  leads  in  prayer  sometimes,  and  in  general 
I  rises  de  tunes." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  can't  refuse  you,"  said  Mr.  Weston ; 
"  but  come  home  sober,  or  ask  no  more  permissions." 

"  God  bless  you,  master ;  don't  be  afeard :  you'll  see 
you  can  trust  me.  I  aint  gwine  to  disgrace  our  family  no 
more.  I  has  to  have  a  little  change  sometimes,  for  Miss 
Janet  knows  my  wife  keeps  me  mighty  straight  at  home. 
She  'lows  me  no  privileges,  and  if  I  didn't  go  off  some- 
times for  a  little  fun,  I  shouldn't  have  no  health,  nor  sper- 
rets  nother." 

"You  wouldn't  have  any  sperrits,  that's  certain,"  said 
Alice,  laughing ;  " I  should  like  to  see  a  bottle  of  whisky 
in  Aunt  Phillis's  cabin." 

Bacchus  laughed  outright,  infinitely  overcome  at  the 
suggestion.  "My  blessed  grief!  Miss  Alice,"  said  he, 
"  she'd  make  me  eat  de  bottle,  chaw  up  all  de  glass, 
swaller  it  arter  dat.  I  aint  ever  tried  dat  yet — best  not 
to,  I  reckon.  No,  master,  I  intends  to  keep  sober  from 
this  time  forrurd,  till  young  master  comes  back ;  den  I 
shall  git  high,  spite  of  Phillis,  and  'scuse  me,  sir,  spite  of 
de  devil  hisself.  When  is  he  comin,  any  how,  sir?" 

"Next  year,  I  hope,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

"Long  time,  sir,"  said  Bacchus;  "like  as  not  he'll 
never  see  old  Aunt  Peggy  agin.  She's  failin,  sir,  you 


34  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


can  see  by  de  way  she  sets  in  de  sun  all  day,  wid  a  long 
switch  in  her  hand,  trying  to  hit  de  little  niggers  as  dey 
go  by.  Sure  sign  she's  gwine  home.  If  she  wasn't  alto- 
gether wore  out,  she'd  be  at'somefin  better.  She's  sarved 
her  time  cookin  and  bakin,  and  she's  gwine  to  a  country 
whar  there's  no  'casion  to  cook  any  more.  She's  a  good 
old  soul,  but  wonderful  cross  sometimes." 

"  She  has  been  an  honest,  hard-working,  and  faithful 
servant,  and  a  sober  one  too,"  suid  Mr.  Weston. 

"I  understand,  sir,"  said  Bacchus,  humbly;  "but  don't 
give  yourself  no  oneasiness  about  me!  I  shall  be  home  to- 
morrow night,  ready  to  jine  in  at  prayers." 

"Very  well-^-that  will  do,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
who  felt  anxious  to  enjoy  the  society  of-  his  friend. 

"  Good  evenin  to  you  all,"  said  Bacchus,  retreating 
with  many  bows. 

We  will  see  how  Bacchus  kept  his  word,  and  for  the 
present  leave  Mr.  Weston  to  discuss  the  subjects  of  the 
day  with  his  guest ;'  while  the  ladies  paid  a  visit  to  Aunt 
Peggy,  and  listened  to  her  complaints  of  "  the  flies  and  the 
little  niggers,"  and  the  thousand  and  one  ailings  that  be- 
long to  the  age  of  ninety  years. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  35 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  You  rode  too  far  this  afternoon,  Alice,  you  seem  to 
be  very  tired,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

"  No,  dear  uncle,.  I  am  not  fatigued ;  the  wind  was  cold, 
and  it  makes  me  feel  stupid." 

"Why  did  not  Walter  come  in?"  asked  Mr.  Weston. 
"I  saw  him  returning  with  you  by  the  old  road." 

<<He  said  he  had  an  engagement  this  evening,"  replied 
Alice,  as  she  raised  her  head  from  her  uncle's  shoulder. 

"Poor  Walter  !"  said  Cousin  Janet ;  "with  the  education 
and  habits  of  a  gentleman,  he  is  to  be  pitied  that  it  is  only 
as  a  favor  he  is  received,  among  those  with  whom  he  may 
justly  consider  himself  on  an  equality." 

"But  is  not  Walter  our,  equal?"  asked  Alice.  Cousin 
Janet  held'  her  knitting  close  to  her  eyes  to  look  for  a 
dropped  stitch,  while  Mr.  Weston  replied  for  her  : 

"My  love,  you  know,  probably,  that  Walter  is  not  an 
equal  by  right  of  birth  to  those  whose  parents  held  a  fair 
and  honorable  position  in  society.  His  father,  a  man  of  rare 
talents,  of  fascinating  appearance,  and  winning  address, 
was  the  ruin  of  all  connected  with  him.  (Even  his  mother, 
broken-hearted  by  his  career  of  extravagance  and  dissipa- 
tion, found  rest  in  the  termination  of  a  life  that  had  known 
no  rest.)  His  first  wife,  (not  Walter's  mother,)  a  most 
interesting  woman,  was  divorced  from  him  by  an  unjust 
decision  of  the  law,  for  after  her  death  circumstances 
transpired  that  clearly  proved  her  innocence.  Walter's 
mother  was  not  married,  as  far  as  is  known. ;  though  some 
believe  she  was,  and  that  she  concealed  it  in  consequence 
of  the  wishes  and  threats  of  Mr.  Lee,  who  was  ashamed 
to  own  the  daughter  of  a  tradesman  for  his  wife." 


36  .     AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

"But  all  this  is  not  Walter's  fault,  uncle,"  said  Alice. 

"Assuredly  not ;  but  there  is  something  due  to  our  long 
established  opinions.  Walter  should  go  to  a  new  country, 
where  these  things  are  not  known,  and  where  his  education 
and  talents  would  advance  him.  Here  they  are  too  fresh 
in  the  memory  of  many.  Yet  do  I  feel  most  kindly  to- 
wards him,  though  he  rather  repels  the  interest  we  take  in 
him  by  his  haughty  coldness  of  manner.  The  attachment 
between  him  and  my  son  from  their  infancy  draws  me 
towards  him.  Arthur  writes,  though,  that  his  letters  are 
very  reserved  and  not  frequent.  IVhat  can  be  the  meaning 
of  it?" 

"  There  was  always  a  want  of  candor  and  generosity  in 
Walter's  disposition,"  remarked  Alice's  mother. 

"  You  never  liked  him,  Anna,"  said  Mr.  Weston;  "  why 
was  it?" 

"  Arthur-  and  Walter  contrast  so  strongly,"  answered 
Mrs.  Weston.  "Arthur  was  always  perfectly  honest  and 
straight-forward,- even  as  a  little  child;  though  quiet. in 
his  way  of  showing  it,  he  is  so  affectionate  in  his  disposi- 
tion. Walter  is  passionate  and  fickle,  condescending  to 
those  he  loves,  but  treating  with  a  proud  indifference  every 
one  else.  I  wonder  he  does  not  go  abroad,  he  has  the 
command  of  his  fortune  now,  and  he"  re  he  can  never  be 
happily  situated ',  no  woman  of  delicacy  would  ever  think 
of  marrying  him  with\that  stain  on  his  birth." 

"How  beautiful  his  mother  was,  Cousin  Janet!"  said 
Mr.  Weston.  "  I  have  never  seen  more  grace  and  refine- 
ment. I  often  look  at  Walter,  and  recall  her,  with  her 
beautiful  brown  hair  and  blue  eyes.  How  short  her  course 
was,  too !  I  think  she  died  at  eighteen." 

"Do  tell  me  about  her,  uncle,"  said  Alice. 

"  Cousin  Janet  can,  better  than  I,  my  darling.  Have 
you  never  told  Alice  her  history,  cousin  ?" 

"  No,  it  is  almost  too  sad  a  tale  for  Alice's  ear,  and 
there  is  something  holy,  in  my  mind,  in  the  recollection  of 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  37 


the  sorrows  of  that  young  person.  I  believe  she  was  a 
wife,  though  an  unacknowledged  one.  If  the  grave  would 
give  up  its  secrets — but  it  will,  it  will — the  time  will  come 
for  justice  to  all,  even  to  poor  Ellen  Haywood. 

"  That  young  creature  was  worse  than  an  orphan,  for  her 
father,  thriving  in  business  at  one  time,  became  dissipated 
and  reckless.  Ellen's  time  was  her  own ;  and  after  her 
mother's  death  her  will  was  uncontrolled.  Her  education 
was  not  good  enough  to  give  her  a  taste  for  self-improve- 
ment. She  had  a  fine  mind,  though,  and  the  strictest 
sense  of  propriety  and  dignity.  Her  remarkable  beauty 
drew  towards  her  the  attention  of  the  young  men  of  her 
own  class,  as  well  as  those  of  good  family;  but  she  was 
always  prudent.  Poor  girl !  knowing  she  was  motherless 
and  friendless,  I  tried  to  win  her  regard ;  I  asked  her  to 
come  to  the  house,  with  some  other  young  girls  of  the 
neighborhood,  to  study  the  Bible  under  my  poor  teachings ; 
but  she  declined,  and  I  afterwards  went  to  see  her,  hoping 
to  persuade  her  to  come.  I  found  her  pale  and  delicate, 
and  much  dispirited.  Thanking  me  most  earnestly,  she 
begged  me  to  excuse  her,  saying  she  rarely  went  out,  on 
account  of  her  father's  habits,  fearing  something  might 
occur  during  her  absence  from  home.  I  was  surprised  to 
find  her  so  depressed,  yet  I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have 
seen  any  thing  like  guilt,  in  all  the  interviews  with  her, 
from  that  hour  until  her  death. 

"Ellen's  father  died;  but  not  before  many  had  spoken 
lightly  of  his  daughter.  Mr.  Lee  was  constantly  at  the 
house ;  and  what  but  Ellen's  beauty  could  take  him  there  ! 
No  one  was  without  a  prejudice  against  Mr.  Lee,  and  I 
have  often  wondered  that  Ellen  could  have  overlooked 
what  every  one  knew,  the  treatment  his  wife  had  received. 
You  will  think,"  continued  Cousin  Janet,  "that  it  is  be- 
cause I  am  an  old  maid,  and  am  full  of  notions,  that  1 
cannot  imagine  how  a  woman  can  love  a  man  who  has  been 
divorced  from  his  wife.  I,  who  have  never  loved  as  the 

4 


38  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

novelists  say,  have  the  most  exalted  ideas  of  marriage. 
It  is  in  Scripture,  the  type  of  Christ's  love  to  the  church. 
Life  is  so  full  of  cares ;  there  is  something  holy  in  the 
thought  of  one  heart  being  privileged  to  rest  its  burden 
on  another.  But  how  can  that  man  be  loved  who  has  put 
away  his  wife  from  him,  because  he  is  tired  of  her?  for 
this  is  the  meaning  of  the  usual  excuses — incompatibility 
of  temper,  and  the  like.  Yet  Ellen  did  love  him,  with  a 
love  passing  description  ;  she  forgot  his  faults  and  her 
own  position ;  she  loved  as  I  would  never  again  wish  to  see 
a  friend  of  mine  love  any  creature  of  the  earth. 

«  Time  passed,  and  Ellen  was  despised.  Mr.  Lee  left  ab- 
ruptly for  Europe,  and  I  heard  that  this  poor  young  wo- 
man was  about  to  become  a  mother.  I  knew  she  was  alone 
in  the  world,  and  I  knew  my  duty  too.  I  went  to  her, 
and  I  thank  Him  who  inclined  me  to  seek  this  wandering 
lamb  of  his  fold,  and  to  be  (it  may  be)  the  means  of  lead- 
ing her  back  to  His  loving  care  and  protection.  I  often 
saw  her  during  the  last  few  weeks  of  her  life,  and  she  was 
usually  alone  ;  Aunt  Lucy,  her  mother's  servant,  and  her 
own  nurse  when  an  infant,  being  the  only  other  occupant 
of  her  small  cottage. 

«  Speaking  of  her,  brings  back,  vividly  as  if  it  happened 
yesterday,  the  scene  with  which  her  young  life  closed. 
Lucy  sent  for  me,  as  I  had  charged  her,  but  the  messen- 
ger delayed,  and  in  consequence,  Ellen  had  been  some 
hours  sick  when  I  arrived.  Oh !  how  lovely  her  face  ap- 
pears to  my  memory,  as  I  recall  her.  She  was  in  no  pain 
at  the  moment  I  entered ;  her  head  was  supported  by  pil- 
lows, and  her  brown  hair  fell  over  them  and  over  her  neck. 
Her  eyes  were  bright  as  an  angel's,  her  cheeks  flushed 
to  a  crimson  color,  and  her  white,  beautiful  hand  grasped 
a  cane  which  Dr.  Lawton  had  just  placed  there,  hoping 
to  relieve  some  of  her  symptoms  by  bleeding.  Lucy  stood 
by?  full  of  anxiety  and  affection,  for  this  faithful  servant 
loved  her  as  she  loved  her  own  life.  My  heart  reproached 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  39 


me  for  my  unintentional  neglect,  but  I  was  in  a  moment 
by  her  side,  supporting  her  head  upon  my  breast. 

"It  is  like  a  dream,  that  long  night  of  agony.  The  pa- 
tience of  Ellen,  the  kindness  of  her  physician,  and  the 
devotion  of  her  old  nurse — I  thought  that  only  a  wife  could 
have  endured  as  she  did. 

"  Before  this,  Ellen  had  told  me  her  wishes  as  regards  her 
child,  persuaded  that,  if  it  should  live,  she  should  not  sur- 
vive its  birth  to  take  care  of  it.  She  entreated  me  to  be- 
friend it  in  the  helpless  time  of  infancy,  and  then  to  appeal 
to  its  father  in  its  behalf.  I  promised  her  to  do  so,  al- 
ways chiding  her  for  not  hoping  and  trusting.  <  Ellen,' 
I  would  say,  « life  is  a  blessing  as  long  as  God  gives  it,  and 
it  is  our  duty  to  consider  it  so.' 

"  <  Yes,  Miss  Janet,  but  if  God  give  me  a  better  life,  shall 
I  not  esteem  it  a  greater  blessing  ?  I  have  not  deserved 
shame  and  reproach,  and  I  cannot  live  under  it.  Right 
glad  and  happy  am  I,  that  a  few  sods  of  earth  will  soon 
cover  all.' 

«  Such  remarks  as  these,"  continued  Cousin  Janet,  "  con- 
vinced me  that  there  was  grief,  but  not  guilt,  on  Ellen's 
breast,  and  for  her  own  sake,  I  hoped  that  she  would  so 
explain  to  me  her  past  history,  that  I  should  have  it  in  my 
power  to  clear  her  reputation.  But  she  never  did.  Truly, 
'she  died  and  made  no  sign,'  and  it  is  reserved  to  a  future 
day  to  do  her  justice. 

"I  said  she  died.  That  last  night  wore  on,  and  no  word 
of  impatience  or  complaint  escaped  her  lips.  The  agony 
of  death  found  her  quiet  and  composed.  Night  advanced, 
and  the  gray  morning  twilight  fell  on  .those  features,  no 
longer  flushed  and  excited.  Severe  faintings  had  come  on, 
and  the  purple  line  under  the  blue  eyes  heralded  the  ap- 
proach -of  death.  Her  luxuriant  hair  lay  in  damp  masses 
about  her ;  her  white  arms  were  cold,  and  the  moisture  of 
death  was  gathering  there  too.  <0h  !  Miss  Ellen,'  cried 
old  Lucy,  'you  will  be  better  soon — bear  up  a  little  longer.' 


40  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


"  'Ellen  dear,'.!  said,  'try  and  keep  up.'  But  who  can 
give  life  and  strength  save  One? — and  He  was  calling 
to  her  everlasting  rest  the  poor  young  sufferer. 

"  'Miss  Ellen,'  again  cried  Lucy,  'you  have  a  son ;  speak 
to  me,  my  darling ;'  but,  like  Each  el  of  old,  she  could  not 
be  thus  revived,  'her  soul  was  in  departing.' 

"Lucy  bore  away  the  child  from  the  chamber  of  death, 
and  I  closed  her  white  eyelids,  and  laid  her  hands  upon 
her  breast.  Beautiful  was  she  in  death :  she  had  done  with 
pain  and  tears  forever. 

"I  never  can  forget,"  continued  Cousin  Janet,  after  a 
pause  of  a  few  moments,  "  Lucy's  grief.  She  wept  un- 
ceasingly by  Ellen's  side,  and  it  was  impossible  to  arouse 
her  to  a  care  for  her  own  health,  or  to  an  interest  in  what 
was  passing  around.  On  the  day  that  Ellen  was  to  be 
buried,  I  went  to  the  room  where  she  lay  prepared  for  her 
last  long  sleep.  Death  had  laid  a  light  touch  on  her  fair 
face.  The  sweet  white  brow  round  which  her  hair  waved 
as  it  had  in  life — the  slightly  parted  lips — the  expression 
of  repose,  not  only  in  the  countenance,  but  in  the  attitude 
in  which  her  old  nurse  had  laid  her,  seemed  to  indicate 
an  awakening  to  the  duties  of  life.  But  there  was  the 
coffin  and  the  shroud,  and  there  sat  Lucy,  her  eyes  heavy 
with  weeping,  and  her  frame  feeble  from  long  fasting,  and 
indulgence  of  bitter,  hopeless  grief. 

"  It  was  in  the  winter,  and  a  severe  snow-storm,  an  un- 
usual occurrence  with  us,  had  swept  the  country  for  several 
days ;  but  on  this  morning  the  wind  and  clouds  had  gone 
together,  and  the  sun  was  lighting  up  the  hills  and  river, 
and  the  crystals  of  snow  were  glistening  on  the  evergreens 
that  stood  in  front  of  the  cottage  door.  One  ray  intruded 
through  the  shutter  into  the  darkened  room,  and  rested  on 
a  ring,  which  I  had  never  observed  before,  on  Ellen's  left 
hand.  It  was  on  the  third  finger,  and  its  appearance  there 
was  so  unexpected  to  me,  that  for  a  moment  my  strength 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  41 


forsook  me,  and  I  leaned  against  the  table  on  which  the 
coffin  rested,  for  support. 

"  'Lucy,'  I  said,  '  when  was  that  placed  there  ?' 

"  'I  put  it  there,  ma'am.' 

"  ' But  what  induced  you  ?' 

"  '  She  told  me  to  do  so,  ma'am.  A  few  days  before  she 
was  taken  sick,  she  called  me  and  took  from  her  bureau- 
drawer,  that  ring.  The  ring  was  in  a  small  box.  She  was 
very  pale  when  she  spoke — she  looked  more  like  death  than 
she  does  now,  ma'am.  I  know'd  she  wasn't  able  to  stand, 
and  I  said,  '  Sit  down,  honey,  and  then  tell  me  what  you 
want  me  to  do.' 

"' Mammy,'  said  she,  « you've  had  a  world  of  trouble 
with  me,  and  you've  had  trouble  of  your  own  all  your  life ; 

but  I  am  not  going  to  give  you  much  more I  shall 

soon  be  where  trouble  cannot  come.' 

"'  Don't  talk  that  way,  child,'  said  I,  'you  will  get 
through  with  this,  and  then  you  will  have  something  to 
love  and  to  care  for,  that  will  make  you  happy  again.' 

"  'Never  in  this  world,'  said  she  ;  '  but  mammy,  I  have 
one  favor  more  to  ask  of  you — and  you  must  promise  me 
to  do  it.' 

"  'What  is  it,  Miss  Ellen?'  said  I;  'you  know  I  would 
die  for  you  if  'twould  do  you  any  good.' 

"  'It  is  this,'  she  said,  speaking  very  slowly,  and  in  a 
low  tone,  '  when  I  am  dead,  mammy,  when  you  are  all  by 
yourself,  for  I  am  sure  you  will  stay  by  me  to  the  last,  I 
want  you  to  put  this  ring  on  the  third  finger  of  my  left 
hand-*— will  you  remember  ? — on  the  third  finger  of  my  left 
hand.'  She  said  it  over  twice,  ma'am,  and  she  was  whiter 
than  that  rose  that  lays  on  her  poor  breast.' 

" '  Miss  Ellen,'  says  I,  '  as  sure  as  there's  a  God  in 
heaven  you  are  Mr.  Lee's  wife,  and  why  don't  you  say  so, 
and  stand  up  for  yourself?  Don't  you  see  how  people 
sneer  at  you  when  they  see  you  ?' 

"  'Yes,  but  don't  say  any  more.  It  will  soon  be  over. 

4* 


42  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


I  made  a  promise,  and  I  will  keep  it ;  God  will  do  me  jus- 
tice when  he  sees  fit.' 

"  'But,  Miss  Ellen,'  says  I,  'for  the  sake  of  the  child' — 
"  'Hush  !  mammy,  that  is  the  worst  of  all;  but  I  will 
trust  in  Him.  It's  a  dreadful  sin  to  love  as  I  have,  but 
God  has  punished  me.  Do  you  remember,  dear  mammy, 
when  I  was  a  child,  how  tired  I  would  get,  chasing  butter- 
flies while  the  day  lasted,  and  when  night  came,  how  I 
used  to  spring,  and  try  to  catch  the  lightning-bugs  that 
were  flying  around  me — and  you  used  to  beg  me  to  come 
in  and  rest  or  go  to  bed,  but  I  would  not  until  I  could  no 
longer  stand ;  then  I  laid  myself  on  your  breast  and  forgot 
all  my  weariness  ?  So  it  is  with  me  now ;  I  have  had  my 
own  way,  and  I  have  suffered,  and  have  no  more  strength 
to  spend ;  I  will  lie  down  in  the  grave,  and  sleep  where  no 
one  will  reproach  me.  Promise  me  you  will  do  what  I  ask 
you,  and  I  will  die  contented.' 

"  'I  promised  her,  ma'am,  and  I  have  done  it.' 
"  'It  is  very  strange,  Lucy,'  said  I,  'there  seems  to  have 
been  a  mysterious  reason  why  she  would  not  clear  herself; 
but  it  is  of  no  use  to  try  and  unravel  the  mystery.  She  has 
no  friends  left  to  care  about  it ;  we  can  only  do  as  she 
said,  leave  all  to  God.' 

"  «  Ah  ma'am,'  said  Lucy,  'what  shall  I  do  now  she  is 
gone  ?  I  have  got  no  friend  left ;  if  I  could  only  die  too — 
Lord  have  mercy  upon  me.' 

"  '  You  have  still  a  friend,  Lucy,'  I  said.     '  One  that  well 
deserves  the  name  of  friend.     You  must  seek  Him  out, 
and  make  a  friend  of  Him.     Jesus  Christ  is  the  friend  of 
the  poor  and  desolate.     Have  you  no  children,  Lucy  ?' 
"  '  God  only  knows,  ma'am.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean  ?'  I  said.    '  Are  they  all  dead  ?' 

"  '  They  are  gone,  ma'am — all  sold.     I  ain't  seen  one  of 

them  for  twenty  years.     Days  have  come  and  gone,  and 

nights  have  come  and  gone,  but  day  and  night  is  all  the 

same  to  me.     You  did  not  hear,  may  be,  for  grand  folks 


SOUTHERN   LIFE 'AS    IT   IS.  43 

don't  often  hear  of  the  troubles  of  the  poor  slave — that 
one  day  I  had  seven  children  with  me,  and  the  next  they 
were  all  sold  ;  taken  off,  and  I  did  not  even  see  them',  to 
bid  them  good-by.  My  master  sent  me,  with  my  mistress 
to  the  country,  where  her  father  lived,  (for  she  was  sickly, 
and  he  said  it  would  do  her  good,)  and  when  we  came  back 
there  was  no  child  to  meet  me.  I  have  cried,  ma'am, 
enough  for  Miss  Ellen,  but  I  never  shed  a  tear  for  my 
own.' 

"  « But  what  induced  him,  Lucy,  to  do  such  a  wicked 
thing  ?' 

"  <  Money,  ma'am,  and  drinking,  and  the  devil.  He  did 
not  leave  me  one.  My  five  boys,  and  my  two  girls,  all 
went  at  once.  My  oldest  daughter,  ma'am,  I  was  proud 
of  her,  for  she  was  a  handsome  girl,  and  light-colored 
too — she  went,  and  the  little  one,  ma'am.  My  heart  died 
in  me.  I  hated  him.  I  used  to  dream  I  had  killed  him,  and 
I  would  laugh  out  in  my  sleep,  but  I  couldn't  murder  him 
on  her  account.  My  mistress,  she  cried  day  and  night, 
and  called  him  cruel,  and  she  would  say,  <  Lucy,  I'd  have 
died  before  I  would  have  done  it.'  I  couldn't  murder  him, 
ma'am,  'twas  my  mistress  held  me  back.' 

"<No,  Lucy,'  said  I,  <  'twas  not  your  mistress,  it  was  the 
Lord ;  and  thank  Him  that  you  are  not  a  murderer.  Did 
you  ever  think  of  the  consequences  of  such  an  act?' 

"  '  Lor,  ma'am,  do  you  think  I  cared  for  that  ?  I  wasn't 
afraid  of  hanging.' 

" « I  did  not  mean  that,  Lucy.  I  meant,  did  you  not 
fear  His  power,  who  could  not  only  kill  your  body,  but 
destroy  your  soul  in  hell  ?' 

"'I  didn't  think  of  any  thing,  for  a  long  time.  My 
mistress  got  worse  after  that,  and  I  nursed  her  until  she 
died  ;  poor  Miss  Ellen  was  a  baby,  and  I  had  her  too. 
"When  master  died  I  thought  it  was  no  use  for  me  to  wish 
him  ill,  for  the  hand  of  the  Lord  was  heavy  on  him,  for 
true.  <  Lucy,'  he  said,  <  you  are  a  kind  nurse  to  me,  though 


44  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


I  sold  your  children,  but  I've  had  no  rest  since.'  I  couldn't 
make  him  feel  worse,  ma'am,  for  he  was  going  to  his  ac- 
count with  all  his  sins  upon  him.' 

"  <  This  is  the  first  time  Lucy,'  I  said,  <that  I  have  ever 
known  children  to  be  sold  away  from  their  mother,  and  I 
look  upon  the  crime  with  as  great  a  horror  as  you  do.' 

« <  Its  the  only  time  I  ever  knowed  it,  ma'am,  and  every- 
body pitied  me,  and  many  a  kind  thing  was  said  to  me, 
and  many  a  hard  word  was  said  of  him  ;  true  enough,  but 
better  be  forgotten,  as  he  is  in  his  grave.' 

"  Some  persons  now  entered,  and  Lucy  became  absorbed 
in  her  present  grief;  her  old  frame  shook  as  with  a  tem- 
pest, when  the  fair  face  was  hid  from  her  sight.  There 
were  few  mourners ;  Cousin  Weston  and  I  followed  her  to 
the  grave.  I  believe  Ellen  was  as  pure  .as  the  white  lilies 
Lucy  planted  at  her  head." 

"Did  Lucy  ever  hear  of  her  children?"  asked  Alice. 

"  No,  my  darling,  she  died  soon  after  Ellen.  She  was 
quite  an  old  woman,  and  had  never  been  strong." 

"Uncle,"  said  Alice,  "I  did  not  think  any  one  could 
be  so  inhuman  as  to  separate  mother  and  children." 

"It  is  the  worst  feature  in  slavery,"  replied  Mr.  Wes- 
ton, "  and  the  State  should  provide  laws  to  prevent  it ; 
but  such  a  circumstance  is  very  uncommon.  Hay  wood, 
Ellen's  father,  was  a  notoriously  bad  man,  and  after  this 
wicked  act  was  held  in  utter  abhorrence  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. It  is  the  interest  of  a  master  to  make  his  slaves 
happy,  even  were  he  not  actuated  by  better  motives. 
Slavery  is  an  institution  of  our  country;  and  while  we 
are  privileged  to  maintain  our  rights,  we  should  make 
them  comfortable  here,  and  fit  them  for  happiness  here- 
after." 

"  Did  you  bring  Lucy  home  with  you,  Cousin  Janet  ?" 
asked  Alice. 

"Yes,  my  love,  and  little  Walter  too.  He  was  a  dear 
baby — now  he  is  a  man  of  fortune,  (for  Mr.  Lee  left  him 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  45 


his  entire  property,)  and  is  under  no  one's  control.  He 
will  always  be  very  dear  to  me.  But  here  comes  Mark 
with  the  Prayer  Book." 

"Lay  it  here,  Mark,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "  and  ring  the 
bell  for  the  servants.  I  like  all  who  can  to  come  and 
unite  with  me  in  thanking  God  for  His  many  mercies. 
Strange,  I  have  opened  the  Holy  Book  where  David  says, 
(and  we  will  join  with  him,)  <  Praise  the  Lord,  oh !  my 
soul,  and  all  that  is  within  me,  praise  his  holy  name.'  ' 


CHAPTER  III. 

AFTER  the  other  members  of  the  family  had  retired, 
Mr.  Weston,  as  was  usual  with  him,  sat  for  a  while  in  the 
parlor  to  read.  The  closing  hour  of  the  day  is,  of  all, 
the  time  that  we  love  to  dwell  on  the  subject  nearest  our 
heart.  As,  at  the  approach  of  death,  the  powers  of  the 
mind  rally,  and  the  mortal,  faint  and  feeble,  with  but  a 
few  sparks  of  decaying  life  within  him,  arouses  to  a  sense 
of  his  condition,  and  puts  forth  all  his  energies,  to  meet 
the  hour  of  parting  with  earth  and  turning  his  face  to 
heaven  ;  so,  at  the  close  of  the  evening,  the  mind,  wearied 
with  its  day's  travelling,  is  about  to  sink  into  that  repose 
as  necessary  for  it  as  for  the  body — that  repose  so  often 
compared  to  the  one  in  which  the  tired  struggler  with  life, 
has  « forever  wrapped  the  drapery  of  his  couch  about 
him,  and  laid  down  to  pleasant  dreams."  Ere  yielding,  it 
turns  with  energy  to  the  calls  of  memory,  though  it  is  so 
soon  to  forget  all  for  a  while.  It  hears  voices  long  since 
hushed,  and  eyes  gaze  into  it  that  have  looked  their  last 
upon  earthly  visions.  Time  is  forgotten,  Affection  for  a 
while  holds  her  reign,  Sorrow  appears  with  her  train  of 


46  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


reproachings  and  remorse,  until  exhaustion  comes  to  its 
aid,  and  it  obtains  the  relief  so  bountifully  provided  by 
Him  who  knoweth  well  our  frames.  With  Mr.  Weston 
this  last  hour  was  well  employed,  for  he  not  only  read,  but 
studied  the  Holy  Scriptures.  Possessed  of  an  unusually 
placid  temperament,  there  had  occurred  in  his  life  but  few 
events  calculated  to  change  the  natural  bent  of  his  dispo- 
sition. The  death  of  his  wife  was  indeed  a  bitter  grief; 
but  he  had  not  married  young,  and  she  had  lived  so  short 
a  time,  that  after  a  while  he  returned  to  his  usual  train  of 
reflection.  But  for  the  constant  presence  of  his  son, 
whose  early  education  he  superintended,  he  would  have 
doubted  if  there  ever  had  been  a  reality  to  the  remem- 
brance of  the  happy  year  he  had  passed  in  her  society. 

With  his  hand  resting  on  the  sacred  page,  and  his  heart 
engrossed  with  the  lessons  it  taught,  he  was  aroused  from 
his  occupation  by  a  loud  noise  proceeding  from  the  kitchen. 
This  was  a  most  unusual  circumstance,  for  besides  that  the 
kitchen  was  at  some  distance  from  the  house,  the  servants 
were  generally  quiet  and  orderly.  It  was  far  from  being 
the  case  at  present.  Mr.  Weston  waited  a  short  time 
to  give  affairs  time  to  right  themselves,  but  at  length  de- 
termined to  inquire  into  the  cause  of  the  confusion. 

As  he  passed  through  the  long  hall,  the  faces  of  his  an- 
cestors looked  down  upon  him  by  the  dim  light.  There 
was  a  fair  young  lady,  with  an  arm  white  as  snow,  uncon- 
cealed by  a  sleeve,  unless  the  fall  of  a  rich  border  of  lace 
from  her  shoulder  could  be  called  by  that  name.  Her 
golden  hair  was  brushed  back  from  her  forehead,  and  fell 
in  masses  over  her  shoulders.  Her  face  was  slightly  turned, 
and  there  was  a  smile  playing  about  her  mouth. 

Next  her  was  a  grave-looking  cavalier,  her  husband. 
There  were  old  men,  with  powdered  hair  and  the  rich  dress 
of  bygone  times. 

There  were  the  hoop  and  the  brocades,  and  the  sto- 
macher, and  the  fair  bosom,  against  which  a  rose  leaned, 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  47 

well  satisfied  with  its  lounging  place.  Over  the  hall  doors, 
the  antlers  of  the  stag  protruded,  reminding  one  that  the 
chase  had  been  a  favorite  pastime  with  the  self-exiled  sons 
of  Merry  England. 

Such  things  have  passed  away  from  thee,  my  native 
State  !  Forever  have  they  gone,  and  the  times  when  over 
waxed  floors  thy  sons  and  daughters  gracefully  performed 
the  minuet.  The  stately  bow,  the  graceful  curtsey  are 
seen  no  more ;  there  is  hospitality  yet  lingering  in  thy 
halls,  but  fashion  is  making  its  way  there  too.  The  day 
when  there  was  a  tie  between  master  and  slave, — is  that 
departing,  and  why  ? 

Mr.  Weston  passed  from  the  house  under  a  covered  way 
to  the  kitchen,  and  with  a  firm  but  slow  step,  entered.  And 
here,  if  you  be  an  Old  or  a  New  Englander,  let  me  intro- 
duce you — as  little  at  home  would  be  Queen  Victoria  hold- 
ing court  in  the  Sandwich  Islands,  as  you  here.  You  may 
look  in  vain  for  that  bane  of  good  dinners,  a  cooking  stove ; 
search  forever  for,  a  grain  of  saleratus  or  soda,  and  it  will 
be  in  vain.  That  large,  round  block,  with  the  wooden 
hammer,  is  the  biscuit-beater ;  and  the  cork  that  is  lift- 
ing itself  from  the  jug  standing  on  it,  belongs  to  the  yeast 
department. 

Mr.  Weston  did  not,  nor  will  we,  delay  to  glance  at  the 
well-swept  earthen  floor,  and  the  bright  tins  in  rows  on  the 
dresser,  but  immediately  addressed  himself  to  Aunt  Peggy, 
who,  seated  in  a  rush-bottomed  chair  in  the  corner,  and  rock- 
ing herself  backwards  and  forwards,  was  talking  rapidly. 

And  oh  !  what  a  figure  had  Aunt  Peggy ;  or  rather,  what 
a  face.  Which  was  the  blacker,  her  eyes  or  her  visage ; 
or  whiter,  her  eyeballs  or  her  hair  ?  The  latter,  uncon- 
fined  by  her  bandanna  handkerchief  as  she  generally  wore 
it,  standing  off  from  her  head  in  masses,  like  snow.  And 
who  that  had  seen  her,  could  forget  that  one  tooth  pro- 
jecting over  her  thick  underlip,  and  in  constant  motion  as 
she  talked. 


48  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

"It's  no  use,  Mister  Bacchus,"  said  she,  addressing  the 
old  man,  who  looked  rather  the  worse  for  wear,  "it's  no 
use  to  be  flinging  yer  imperence  in  my  face.  I'se  worked 
my  time ;  I'se  cooked  many  a  grand  dinner,  and  eat  'em 
too.  You'se  a  lazy  wagabond  yerself." 

"Peggy,"  interposed  Mr.  Weston. 

"A  good-for-nothing,  lazy  wagabond,  yerself,"  conti- 
nued Peggy,  not  noticing  Mr.  Weston,  "  you'se  not  worth 
de  hommony  you  eats." 

"  Does  you  hear  that,  master?"  said  Bacchus,  appealing 
to  Mr.  Weston;  "she's  such  an  old  fool." 

"Hold  your  tongue,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Weston;  while 
Mark,  ready  to  strangle  his  fellow-servant  for  his  imperti- 
nence, was  endeavoring  to  drag  him  out  of  the  room. 

"  Ha,  ha,"  said  Peggy,  "  so  much  for  Mr.  Bacchus  going 
to  barbecues.  A  nice  waiter  he  makes." 

"Do  you  not  see  me  before  you,  Peggy?"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  "  and  do  you  continue  this  disputing  in  my  pre- 
sence ?  If  you  were  not  so,  old,  and  had  not  been  so 
faithful  for  many  years,  I  would  not  excuse  such  conduct. 
You  are  very  ungrateful,  when  you  are  so  well  cared  for ; 
and  from  this  time  forward,  if  you  cannot  be  quiet  and 
set  a  good  example  in  the  kitchen,  do  not  come  into  it." 

"  Don't  be  afeard,  master,  I  can  stay  in  my  own  cabin. 
If  I  has  been  well  treated,  it's  no  more  den  I  desarves. 
I'se  done  miff  for  you  and  yours,  in  my  day;  slaved  my- 
self for  you  and  your  father  before  you.  De  Lord  above 
knows  I  dont  want  ter  stay  whar  dat  ole  drunken  nigger 
is,  no  how.  Hand  me  my  cane,  dar,  Nancy,  I  ain't  gwine 
to  'trude  my  'siety  on  nobody."  And  Peggy  hobbled  off,  not 
without  a  most  contemptuous  look  at  Bacchus,  who  was 
making  unsuccessful  efforts  to  rise  in  compliment  to  his 
master. 

"As  for  you,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "'never  let 
this  happen  again.  I  will  not  allow  you  to  wait  at  barbe- 
cues, in  future." 


. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  49 


"  Don't  say  so,  master,  if  you  please ;  dat  ox,  if  you 
could  a  smelled  him  roastin,  and  de  whiskey-punch,"  and 
Bacchus  snapped  his  finger,  as  the  only  way  of  concluding 
the  sentence  to  his  own  satisfaction. 

"  Take  him  off,  Mark,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "  the  drunken 
old  rascal." 

"  Master,"  said  Bacchus,  pushing  Mark  off,  "  I  don't 
like  de  way  you  speak  to  me  ;  t'aint  'spectful." 

"  Carry  him  off,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  again.  "  John,  help 
Mark."  * 

"Be  off  wid  yourselves,  both  of  ye,"  said  Bacchus; 
"if  ye  don't,  I'll  give  you  de  devil,  afore  I  quits." 

"I'll  shut  your  mouth  for  you,"  said  Mark,  "talking 
so  before  master ;  knock  him  over,  John,  and  push  him 
out." 

Bacchus  was  not  so  easily  overcome.  The  god  whose 
namesake  he  was,  stood  by  him  for  a  time.  Suddenly  the 
old  fellow's  mood  changed ;  with  a  patronizing  smile  he 
turned  to  Mr.  Weston,  and  said,  "  Master,  you  must  'scuse 
me :  I  aint  well  dis  evening.  I  has  the  dyspepsy ;  my 
suggestion  aint  as  good  as  common.  I  think  dat  ox  was 
done  too  much." 

Mr.  Weston  could  not  restrain  a  smile  at  his  grotesque 
appearance,  and  ridiculous  language.  Mark  and  John 
took  advantage  of  the  melting  mood  which  had  come  over 
him,  and  led  him  off  without  difficulty.  On  leaving  the 
kitchen,  he  went  into  a  pious  fit,  and  sung  out 

"  When  I  can  read  my  title  clar." 

Mr.  Weston  heard  him  say,  "  Don't,  Mark ;  don't  squeeze 
an  ole  nigger  so ;  do  you  'spose  you'll  ever  get  to  Heaven, 
if  you  got  no  more  feelins  than  that  ?" 

"  I  hope,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  addressing  the  other  ser- 
vants, "  that  you  will  all  take  warning  by  this  scene.  An 
honest  and  respectable  servant  like  Bacchus,  to  degrade 
himself  in  this  way — it  gives  me  great  pain  to  see  it. 


50  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


William,"  said  he,  addressing  a  son  of  Bacchus,  who 
stood  by  the  window,  "did  you  deliver  my  note  to  Mr, 
Walter?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  he  says  he'll  come  to  dinner  ;  I  was  on  my 
way  in  to  tell  you,  but  they  was  making  such  a  fuss  here." 

"Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "The  rest  of  you  go 
to  bed,  quietly ;  I  am  sure  there  will  be  no  more  disturb- 
ance to-night." 

But,  what  will  the  Abolitionist  say  to  this  scene  ?  Where 
were  the  whip  and  the  cord,  and  other  instruments  of  tor- 
ture ?  Such  consideration,  he  contends,  was  never  shown 
in  the  southern  country.  With  Martin  Tupper,  I  say, 

"  Hear  reason,  oh !  brother ; 
Hear  reason  and  right." 

It  has  been,  that  master  and  slave  were  friends ;  and  if 
this  cannot  continue,  at  whose  door  will  the  sin  lie  ? 

The  Abolitionist  says  to  the  slave,  Go !  but  what  does 
he  do  that  really  advances  his  interest  ?  He  says  to  the 
master,  Give  up  thine  own !  but  does  he  offer  to  share  in 
the  loss  ?  No ;  he  would  give  to  the  Lord  of  that  which 
costs  him  nothing. 

Should  the  southern  country  become  free,  should  the 
eyes  of  the  world  see  no  stain  upon  her  escutcheon,  it 
will  not  be  through  the  efforts  of  these  fanatics.  If  white 
labor  could  be  substituted  for  black,  better  were  it  that 
she  should  not  have  this  weight  upon  her.  The  emanci- 
pation of  her  slaves  will  never  be  accomplished  by  inter- 
ference or  force.  Good  men  assist  in  colonizing  them, 
and  the  Creator  may  thus  intend  to  christianize  benighted 
Africa.  Should  this  be  the  Divine  will,  oh !  that  from 
every  port,  steamers  were  going  forth,  bearing  our  colored 
people  to  their  natural  home ! 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  51 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MY  readers  must  go  with  me  to  a  military  station  at  the 
North,  and  date  back  two  years  from  the  time  of  my  story. 
The  season  must  change,  and  instead  of  summer  sunsets 
and  roses,  we  will  bring  before  them  three  feet  of  snow, 
and  winter's  bleakest  winds. 

Neither  of  these  inconvenienced  the  company  assembled 
in  the  comfortable  little  parlor  of  Captain  Moore's  quar- 
ters, with  a  coal-grate  almost  as  large  as  the  room,  and 
curtains  closely  drawn  over  the  old  style  windows:  Mrs. 
Moore  was  reduced  to  the  utmost  extremity  of  her  wits  to 
make  the  room  look  modern ;  but  it  is  astonishing,  the 
genius  of  army  ladies  for  putting  the  best  foot  foremost. 
This  room  was  neither  square  nor  oblong ;  and  though  a 
mere  box  in  size,  it  had  no  less  than  four  doors  (two  be- 
longed to  the  closets)  and  three  windows.  The  closets 
were  utterly  useless,  being  occupied  by  an  indomitable 
race  of  rats  and  mice ;  they  had  an  impregnable  fortress 
somewhere  in  the  old  walls,  and  kept  possession,  in  spite 
of  the  house-keeping  artillery  Mrs.  Moore  levelled 
against  them.  The  poor  woman  gave  up  in  despair ;  she 
locked  the  doors,  and  determined  to  starve  the  garrison 
into  submission. 

She  was  far  more  successful  in  •  other  respects,  having 
completely  banished  the  spirits  of  formality  and  inhospi- 
tality  that  presided  in  these  domains.  The  house  was  out- 
side the  fort,  and  had  been  purchased  from  a  citizen  who 
lived  there,  totally  apart  from  his  race ;  Mrs.  Moore  had 
the  comfort  of  hearing,  on  taking  possession,  that  all  sorts 
of  ghosts  were  at  home  there ;  but  she  was  a  cheerful  kind 
of  woman,  and  did  not  believe  in  them  any  more  than  sho 


52  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR 


did  in  clairvoyance,  so  she  set  to  work  with  a  brave  heart, 
and  every  thing  yielded  to  her  sway,  excepting  the  afore- 
said rats  and  mice. 

Her  parlor  was  the  very  realization  of  home  comfort. 
The  lounge  by  the  three  windows  was  covered  with  small 
figured  French  chintz,  and  it  was  a  delightful  seat,  or  bed, 
as  the  occasion  required.  She  had  the  legs  of  several  of 
the  chairs  sawed  off,  and  made  cushions  for  them,  covered 
with  pieces  of  the  chintz  left  from  the  lounge.  The  arm- 
chairs that  looked  at  each  other  from  either  side  of  the  fire- 
place, not  being  of  velvet,  were  made  to  sit  in, 

In  one  corner  of  the  room,  (there  were  five,)  a  fine-toned 
guitar  rested  against  the  wall ;  in  another,  was  a  large 
fly-brush  of  peacock's  feathers,  with  a  most  unconscionable 
number  of  eyes.  In  the  third,  was  Captain  Moore's  sword 
and  sash.  In  the  fourth,  was  Mrs.  Moore's  work-basket, 
where  any  amount  of  thimbles,  needles,  and  all  sorts  of 
sewing  implements  could  be  found.  And  in  the  fifth  cor- 
ner was  the  baby-jumper,  its  fat  and  habitual  occupant 
being  at  this  time  oblivious  to  the  day's  exertions ;  in  point 
of  fact,  he  was  up  stairs  in  a  red  pine  crib,  sound  asleep 
with  his  thumb  in  his  mouth. 

One  of  Chickering's  best  pianos  stood  open  in  this  won- 
derful little  parlor,  and  Mrs.  Moore  rung  out  sweet  sounds 
from  it  evening  after  evening.  Mrs.  M.  was  an  industrious, 
intelligent  Southern  woman ;  before  she  met  Captain 
Moore,  she  had  a  sort  of  antipathy  to  dogs  and  Yankees ; 
both,  however,  suddenly  disappeared,  for  after  a  short  ac- 
quaintance, she  fell  desperately  in  love  with  the  captain,  and 
allowed  his  great  Newfoundland  dog,  (who  had  saved  the 
captain,  and  a  great  number  of  boys  from  drowning,)  to  lick 
her  hand,  and  rest  his  cold,  black  nose  on  her  lap ;  on  this 
evening  Neptune  lay  at  her  feet;  and  was  another  ornament 
of  the  parlor.  Indeed,  he  should  have  been  mentioned 
in  connection  with  the  baby-jumper,  for  wherever  the  baby 
was  in  the  day  time,  there  was  Neptune ,  but  he  seemed  to 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  53 


think  that  a  Newfoundland  dog  had  other  duties  incumbent 
upon  him  in  the  evening  than  watching  babies,  so  he  lis- 
tened attentively  to  the  music,  dozing  now  and  then. 
Sometimes,  during  a  very  loud  strain,  he  would  suddenly 
rouse  and  look  intently  at  the  coal-fire  ;  but  finding  himself 
mistaken,  that  he  had  only  dreamed  it  was  a  river,  and 
that  a  boy  who  was  fishing  on  its  banks  had  tumbled  in, 
and  required  his  services  to  pull  him  out,  would  fall  down 
on  the  rug  again  and  take  another  nap. 

I  have  said  nothing  of  this  rug,  which  Neptune  thought 
was  purchased  for  him,  nor  of  the  bright  red  carpet,  nor 
of  the  nice  china  candlesticks  on  the  mantel-piece,  (which 
could  not  be  reached  without  a  step-ladder,)  nor  of  the 
silver  urn,  which  was  Mrs.  Moore's  great-grandmother's, 
nor  of  the  lard-lamp  whix;h  lit  up  every  thing  astonish- 
ingly, because  I  am  anxious  to  come  to  the  point  of  this 
chapter,  and  cannot  do  justice  to  all  these  things.  But  it 
would  be  the  height  of  injustice,  in  me,  to  pass  by  Lieu- 
tenant Jones's  moustaches,  for  the  simple  reason,  that 
since  the  close  of  the  Mexican  war,  he  had  done  little  else 
but  cultivate  them.  They  were  very  brown,  glossy,  and 
luxuriant,  entirely  covering  his  upper  lip,  so  that  it  was 
only  in  a  hearty  laugh  that  one  would  have  any  reason  to 
suppose  he  had  cut  his  front  teeth ;  but  he  had,  and  they 
were  worth  cutting,  too,  which  is  not  always  the  case  with 
teeth.  The  object  of  wearing  these  moustaches  was,  evi- 
dently, to  give  himself  a  warlike  and  ferocious  appearance ; 
in  this,  he  was  partially  successful,  having  the  drawbacks 
of  a  remarkably  gentle  and  humane  countenance,  and  a 
pair  of  mild  blue  eyes.  He  was  a  very  good-natured  young 
man,  and  had  shot  a  wild  turkey  in  Mexico,  the  tail  of 
which  he  had  brought  home  to  Mrs.  Moore,  to  be  made 
into  a  fan.  (This  fan,  too,  was  in  the  parlor,  of  which 
may  be  said  what  was  once  thought  of  the  schoolmaster's 
head,  that  the  only  wonder  was,  it  could  contain  so  much.) 

Next  to  Mr.  Jones  we  will  notice  a  brevet-second  lieu- 

5* 


54  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


tenant,  just  attached  to  the  regiment,  and  then  introduce 
a  handsome  bachelor  captain.  (These  are  scarce  in  the 
army,  and  should  be  valued  accordingly.)  This  gentle- 
man was  a  fine  musician,  and  the  brevet  played  delight- 
fully on  the  flute ;  in  fact,  they  had  had  quite  a  concert 
this  evening.  Then  there  was  Colonel  "Watson,  the  com- 
manding officer,  who  had  happened  in,  Mrs.  Moore  being 
an  especial  favorite  of  his ;  and  there  was  a  long,  lean, 
gaunt-looking  gentleman,  by  the  name  of  Kent.  He  was 
from  Vermont,  and  was  an  ultra  Abolitionist.  They  had 
all  just  returned  from  the  dining-room,  where  they  had 
been  eating  cold  turkey  and  mince  pies ;  and  though 
there  was  a  fair  chance  of  the  nightmare  some  hours 
hence,  yet  for  the  present  they  were  in  an  exceedingly 
high  state  of  health  and  spirits. 

Now,  Mrs.  Moore  had  brought  from  Carolina  a  woman 
quite  advanced  in  life.  She  had  been  a  very  faithful  ser- 
vant, and  Mrs.  Moore's  mother,  wishing  her  daughter  to 
have  the  benefit  of  her  services,  and  feeling  perfect  confi- 
dence in  Polly's  promise  that  under  no  circumstances 
would  she  leave  her  daughter  without  just  cause,  had  con- 
cluded that  the  best  way  of  managing  affairs  would  be  to 
set  her  free  at  once.  She  did  so ;  but  Polly  being  one  of 
those  persons  who  take  the  world  quietly,  was  not  the 
least  elated  at  being  her  own  mistress ;  she  rather  felt  it 
to  be  a  kind  of  experiment  to  which  there  was  some  risk 
attached.  Mrs.  Moore  paid  her  six  dollars  a  month  for 
her  services,  and  from  the  time  they  had  left  home  toge- 
ther until  the  present  moment,  Polly  had  been  a  most 
efficient  servant,  and  a  sort  of  friend  whose  opinions  were 
valuable  in  a  case  of  emergency. 

For  instance,  Captain  Moore  was  a  temperance  man, 
and  in  consequence,  opposed  to  brandy,  wine,  and  the  like 
being  kept  in  his  house.  This  was  quite  a  trouble  to  his 
wife,  for  she  knew  that  good  mince  pies  and  pudding 
sauces  could  not  be  made  without  a  little  of  the  where- 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS   IT   IS.  55 


withal ;  so  she  laid  her  difficulties  before  Aunt  Polly,  and 
begged  her  to  advise  what  was  best  to  do. 

"  You  see,  Aunt  Polly,  Captain  Moore  says  that  a  good 
example  ought  to  be  set  to  the  soldiers ;  and  that  since 
the  Mexican  war  the  young  officers  are  more  inclined  to 
indulge  than  they  used  to  be-;  that  he  feels  such  a  re- 
sponsibility in  the  case  that  he  can't  bear  the  sight  of  a 
bottle  in  the  house." 

"Well,  honey,"  said  Aunt  Polly,  "he  says  he  likes  my 
mince  pies,  and  my  puddins,  mightily ;  and  does  he  'spect 
me  to  make  'em  good,  and  make  'em  out  of  nothin,  too  ?" 

«  That's  what  I  say,  Aunt  Polly,  "  for  you  know  none 
of  us  like  to  drink.  The  captain  belongs  to  the  Tempe- 
rance Society ;  and  I  don't  like  it,  because  it  gets  into  my 
head,  and  makes  me  stupid ;  and  you  never  drink  any 
thing,  so  if  we  could  only  manage  to  get  him  to  let  us 
keep  it  to  cook  with." 

"As  to  that,  child,"  said  Aunt  Polly,  "I  mus  have  it 
to  cook  with,  that's  a  pint  settled ;  there  aint  no  use  'spu- 
tin  about  it.  If  he  thinks  I'm  gwine  to  change  my  way 
of  cookin  in  my  old  age,  he's  mightily  mistaken.  He 
need'nt  think  I'm  gwine  to  make  puddins  out  o'  one  egg, 
and  lighten  my  muffins  with  snow,  like  these  ere  Yankees, 
'kase  I  aint  gwine  to  do  it  for  nobody.  I  sot  out  to  do 
my  duty  by  you,  and  I'll  do  it ;  but  for  all  that,  I  aint 
bound  to  set  to  larnin  new  things  this  time  o'  day.  I'll 
cook  Carolina  fashion,  or  I  wont  cook  at  all." 

"Well,  but  what  shall  I  do?"  said  Mrs.  Moore;  "you 
wouldn't  have  me  do  a  thing  my  husband  disapproves  of, 
would  you?" 

«  No,  that  I  wouldn't,  Miss  Emmy,"  said  Aunt  Polly. 
My  old  man's  dust  and  ashes  long  ago,  but  I  always  done 
what  I  could  to  please  him.  Men's  mighty  onreasonable, 
the  best  of  'em,  but  when  a  woman  is  married  she  ought 
to  do  all  she  can  for  the  sake  of  peace.  I  dont  see  what 
a  man  has  got  to  do  interferin  with  the  cookin,  no  how ; 


56  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

a  woman  oughter  'tend  to  these  matters.  Tears  to  me, 
Mr.  Moore,  (captain,  as  you  calls  him,)  is  mighty  fidjetty 
about  bottles,  all  at  once.  But  if  he  cant  bear  the  sight 
of  a  brandy  bottle  in  the  house,  bring  'em  down  here  to 
me ;  I'll  keep  *em  out  of  his  sight,  I'll  be  bound.  I'll 
put  'em  in  the  corner  of  my  old  chist  yonder,  and  I'd 
like  to  see  him  thar,  rummagin  arter  brandy  bottles  or 
any  thing  else." 

Mrs.  Moore  was  very  much  relieved  by  this  suggestion, 
and  when  her  husband  came  in,  she  enlarged  on  the  ne- 
cessity of  Polly's  having  her  own  way  about  the  cooking, 
and  wound  up  by  saying  that  Polly  must  take  charge  of  all 
the  bottles,  and  by  this  arrangement  he  would  not  be  an- 
noyed by  the  sight  of  them. 

"  But,  my  dear,"  said  he,  "  do  you  think  it  right  to  give 
such  things  in  charge  of  a  servant  ?" 

"Why,  Aunt  Polly  never  drinks." 

"Yes,  but  Emmy,  you  don't  consider  the  temptation." 

"La,  William,  do  hush;  why  if  you  talk  about  tempta- 
tion, she's  had  that  all  her  life,  and  she  could  have  drank 
herself  to  death  long  ago.  Just  say  yes,  and  be  done 
with  it,  for  it* has  worried  me  to  death  all  day,  and  I  want 
it  settled,  and  off  my  mind." 

"Well,  do  as  you  like,"  said  Captain  Moore,  "but  re- 
member, it  will  be  your  fault  if  any  thing  happens." 

"  Nothing  is  going  to  happen,"  said  Mrs.  Moore, 
jumping  up,  and  seizing  the  wine  and  brandy  bottles  by 
the  necks,  and  descending  to  the  lower  regions  with  them. 

"  Here  they  are,  Aunt  Polly.  William  consents  to  your 
having  them;  and  mind  you  keep  them  out  of  sight." 

"  Set  'em  down  in  the  cheer  thar,  I'll  take  care  of  'em, 
I  jist  wanted  som.e  brandy  to  put  in  these  potato  puddins. 
I  wonder  what  they'd  taste  like  without  it." 

But  Mrs.  Moore  could  not  wait  to  talk  about  it,  she  was 
up  stairs  in  another  moment,  holding  her  baby  on  Nep- 
tune's back,  and  more  at  ease  in  her  mind  than  she  had 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  57 


been  since  the    subject  was   started,   twenty-four   hours 
before. 

There  was  but  one  other  servant  in  the  house,  a  middle- 
aged  woman,  who  had  run  away  from  her  mistress  in 
Boston ;  or  rather,  she  had  been  seduced  off  by  the  Aboli- 
tionists. While  many  would  have  done  well  under  the 
circumstances,  Susan  had  never  been  happy,  or  comfort- 
able, since  this  occurred.  Besides  the  self-reproach  that 
annoyed  her,  (for  she  had  been  brought  on  from  Georgia 
to  nurse  a  sick  child,  and  its  mother,  a  very  feeble  person, 
had  placed  her  dependence  upon  her,)  Susan  was  illy  cal- 
culated to  shift  for  herself.  She  was  a  timid,  delicate 
woman,  with  rather  a  romantic  cast  of  mind ;  her  mistress 
had  always  been  an  invalid,  and  was  fond  of  hearing  her 
favorite  books  read  aloud.  For  the  style  of  books  that 
Susan  had  been  accustomed  to  listen  to,  as  she  sat  at  her 
sewing,  Lalla  Rookh  would  be  a  good  specimen ;  and,  as 
she  had  never  been  put  to  hard  work,  but  had  merely  been 
an  attendant  about  her  mistress'  room,  most  of  her  time 
was  occupied  in  a  literary  way.  Thus,  having  an  excel- 
lent memory,  her  head  was  a  sort  of  store-room  for  love- 
sick snatches  of  song.  The  Museum  men  would  represent 
her  as  having  snatched  a  feather  of  the  bird  of  song ;  but 
as  this  is  a  matter-of-fact  kind  of  story,  we  will  observe, 
that  Susan  not  being  naturally  very  strong-minded,  and 
her  education  not  more  advanced  than  to  enable  her  to 
spell  out  an  antiquated  valentine,  or  to  write  a  letter  with 
a  great  many  small  i's  in  it,  she  is  rather  to  be  considered 
the  victim  of  circumstances  and  a  soft  heart.  She  was, 
nevertheless,  a  conscientious  woman ;  and  when  she  left 
Georgia,  to  come  North,  had  any  one  told  her  that  she 
would  run  away,4  she  would  have  answered  in  the  spirit, 
if  not  the  expression,  of  the  oft  quoted,  « Is  thy  servant 
a  dog?" 

She  enjoyed  the  journey  to  the  North,  the  more  that  the 
little  baby  improved  very  much  in  strength ;  she  had  had, 


58  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

at  her  own  wish,  the  entire  charge  of  him  from  his 
birth. 

The  family  had  not  been  two  days  at  the  Revere  House 
before  Susan  found  herself  an  object  of  interest  to  men 
who  were  gentlemen,  if  broadcloth  and  patent-leather 
boots  could  constitute  that  valuable  article.  These  indi- 
viduals seemed  to  know  as  much  of  her  as  she  did  of  her- 
self, though  they  plied  her  with  questions  to  a  degree  that 
quite  disarranged  her  usual  calm  and  poetic  flow  of  ideas. 
As  to  "  Whether  she  had  been  born  a  slave,  or  had  been 
kidnapped  ?  Whether  she  had  ever  been  sold  ?  How 
many  times  a  week  she  had  been  whipped,  and  what  with  ? 
Had  she  ever  been  shut  up  in  a  dark  cellar  and  nearly 
starved?  Was  she  allowed  more  than  one  meal  a  day? 
Did  she  ever  have  any  thing  but  sweet  potato  peelings  ? 
Had  she  ever  been  ducked  ?  And,  finally,  she  was  desired 
to  open  her  mouth,  that  they  might  see  whether  her  teeth 
had  been  extracted  to  sell  to  the  dentist  ?" 

Poor  Susan!  after  one  or  two  interviews  her  feelings 
were  terribly  agitated ;  all  these  horrible  suggestions  might 
become  realities,  and  though  she  loved  her  home,  her  mis- 
tress, and  the  baby  too,  yet  she  was  finally  convinced  that 
though  born  a  slave,  it  was  not  the  intention  of  Providence, 
but  a  mistake,  and  that  she  had  been  miraculously  led  to 
this  Western  Holy  Land,  of  which  Boston  is  the  Jerusalem, 
as  the  means  by  which  things  could  be  set  to  rights  again. 

One  beautiful,  bright  evening,  when  her  mistress  had 
rode  out  to  see  the  State  House  by  moonlight,  Susan  kissed 
the  baby,  not  without  many  tears,  and  then  threw  herself, 
trembling  and  dismayed,  into  the  arms  and  tender  mercies 
of  the  Abolitionists.  They  led  her  into  a  distant  part  of 
the  city,  and  placed  her  for  the  night  under  the  charge  of 
some  people  who  made  their  living  by  receiving  the  newly 
ransomed.  The  next  morning  she  was  to  go  off,  but  she 
found  she  had  reckoned  without  her  host,  for  when  she 
thanked  the  good  people  for  her  night's  lodging  and  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  59 


hashed  cod-fish  on  which  she  had  tried  to  breakfast,  she 
had  a  bill  to  pay,  and  where  was  the  money?  Poor  Susan ! 
she  had  only  a  quarter  of  a  dollar,  and  that  she  had  asked 
her  mistress  for  a  week  before,  to  buy  a  pair  of  side-combs. 

"Why,  what  a  fool  you  be,"  said  one  of  the  men;  "Didn't 
I  tell  you  to  bring  your  mistress'  purse  along?" 

"And  did  you  think  I  was  going  to  steal  besides  run- 
ning off  from  her  and  the  poor  baby?"  answered  Susan. 

"  It's  not  stealing,"  said  the  Abolitionist.  "  Haven't  you 
been  a  slaving  of  yourself  all  your  life  for  her,  and  I  guess 
you've  a  right  to  be  paid  for  it.  I  guess  you  think  the 
rags,  on  your  back  good  wages  eaough?" 

Susan  looked  at  her  neat  dress,  and  thought  they  were 
very  nice  rags,  compared  to  the  clothes  her  landlady  had 
on ;  but  the  Abolitionist  was  in  a  hurry. 

"  Come,"  said  he,  "I'm  not  going. to  spend  all  my  time 
on  you ;  if  you  want  to  .be  free,  come  along ;  pay  what 
you  owe  and  start." 

«  But  I  have  only  this  quarter,"  said  Susan,  despairingly. 

"  I  don't  calculate  to  give  runaway  niggers  their  supper, 
and  night's  lodging  and  breakfast  for  twenty-five  cents," 
said  the  woman.  "  I  aint  so  green  as  that,  I  can  tell  you. 
If  you've  got  no  money,  open  your  bundle,  and  we  can 
make  a  trade,  like  as  not." 

Susan  opened  her  bundle,  (which  was  a  good  strong  carpet- 
bag her  mistress  had  given  her,)  and  after  some  hesitation, 
the  woman  selected  as  her  due  a  nice  imitation  of  Cashmere 
shawl,  the  last  present  her  mistress  had  given  her.  It  had 
cost  four  dollars.  Susan  could  hardly  give  it  up;  she 
wanted  to  keep  it  as  a  remembrance,  but  she  already  felt 
herself  in  the  hands  of  the  Philistines,  and  she  fastened  up 
her  carpet-bag  and  set  forward.  She  was  carried  off  in 
the  cars  to  an  interior  town,  and  directed  to  the  house  of 
an  Abolitionist,  to  whom  she  was  to  hire  herself. 

Her  fare  was  paid  by  this  person,  and  then  deducted 
from  her  wages — her  wages  were  four  dollars  a  month. 


60  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


She  cooked  and  washed  for  ten  in  family;  cleaned  the 
whole  house,  and  did  all  the  chores,  except  sawing  the  wood, 
which  the  gentleman  of  the  house  did  himself.  She  was 
only  required  to  split  the  hard,  large  knots — the  oldest 
son  splitting  the  easy  sticks  for  her.  On  Saturday,  the 
only  extra  duty  required  of  her  was  to  mend  every  item 
of  clothing  worn  in  the  family ;  the  lady  of  the  house  mak- 
ing them  herself.  Susan  felt  very  much  as  if  it  was  out 
of  the  frying  pan  into  the  fire ;  or  rather,  as  if  she  had 
been  transferred  from  one  master  to  another.  She  found  it 
took  all  her  wages  to  buy  her  shoes  and  stockings  and  flan- 
nel, for  her  health  suffered  very  much  from  the  harsh  climate 
and  her  new  mode  of  life,  so  she  ventured  to  ask  for  an 
increase  of  a  dollar  a  month. 

"Is  that  your  gratitude,"  was  the  indignant  reply,  "for 
all  that  we've  done  for  you?  The  idea  of  a  nigger  want- 
ing over  four  dollars  a  month,  when  you've  been  working 
all  your  life,  too,  for  nothing  at  all.  Why  everybody  in 
town  is  wondering  that  I  keep  you,  when  white  help  is  so 
much  better." 

"But,  ma'am,"  replied  Susan,  "they  tell  me  here  that  a 
woman  gets  six  dollars  a  month,  when  she  does  the  whole 
work  of  a  family." 

"A  white  woman  does,"  said  this  Abolitionist  lady, 
"but  not  a  nigger,  I  guess.  Besides,  if  they  do,  you 
ought  to  be  willing  to  work  cheaper  for  Abolitionists,  for 
they  are  your  friends." 

If  "save  me  from  my  friends,"  had  been  in  Lalla 
Kookh,  Susan  would  certainly  have  applied  it,  but  as  the 
quotation  belonged  to  the  heroic  rather  than  the  senti- 
mental department,  she  could  not  avail  herself  of  it,  and 
therefore  went  on  chopping  her  codfish  and  onions  together, 
at  the  rate  of  four  dollars  a  month,  and  very  weak  eyes,  till 
some  good  wind  blew  Captain  Moore  to  the  command  of 
his  company,  in  the  Fort  near  the  town. 

After  Mrs.  Moore's  housekeeping  operations  had  fairly 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  61 


commenced,  she  found  it  would  be  necessary  to  have  a 
person  to  clean  the  house  of  four  rooms,  and  to  help 
Neptune  mind  the  baby.  Aunt  Polly  accordingly  set 
forward  on  an  exploration.  She  presented  quite  an 
unusual  appearance  as  regards  her  style  of  dress.  She 
wore  a  plaid  domestic  gingham  gown  ;  she  had  several 
stuff  ones,  but  she  declared  she  never  put  one  of  them  on 
for  any  thing  less  than  «  meetin."  She  had  a  black  satin 
Methodist  bonnet,  very  much  the  shape  of  a  coal  hod, 
and  the  color  of  her  own  complexion,  only  there  was  a 
slight  shade  of  blue  in  it.  Thick  gloves,  and  shoes,  and 
stockings ;  a  white  cotton  apron,  and  a  tremendous  blanket 
shawl  completed  her  costume.  She  had  a  most  determined 
expression  of  countenance ;  the  fact  is,  she  had  gone  out  to 
get  a  house-servant,  and  she  didn't  intend  to  return  without 
one. 

I  forgot  to  mention  that  she  walked  with  a  cane,  having 
had  a  severe  attack  of  rheumatics  since  her  arrival  in  "the 
great  Norrurd,"  and  at  every  step  she  hit  the  pavements 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  startle  the  rising  generation  of 
Abolitionists,  and  it  had  the  good  effect  of  preventing  any 
of  them  from  calling  out  to  her,  "Where  did  you  get 
your  face  painted,  you  black  nigger,  you?"  which  would 
otherwise  have  occurred. 

Susan  was  just  returning  from  a  grocery  store  with 
three  codfish  in  one  hand,  and  a  piece  of  salt  pork  and  a 
jug  of  molasses  in  the  other,  when  she  was  startled  by 
Aunt  Polly's  unexpected  appearance,  bearing  down  upon 
her  like  a  man  of  war. 

Aunt  Polly  stopped  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  her 
intensely,  while  Susan's  feelings,  which,  like  her  poetry, 
had  for  some  time  been  quite  subdued  by  constant  collision 
with  a  cooking  stove,  got  the  better  of  her,  and  she  burst 
into  tears.  Aunt  Polly  made  up  her  mind  on  the  spot ;  it 
was,  as  she  afterwards  expressed  it,  "  'Ameracle,'  meeting 


62  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OE, 


that  poor  girl,  with  all  that  codfish  and  other  stuff  in  her 
hand." 

Susan  did  not  require  too  much  encouragement  to  tell 
her  lamentable  tale,  and  Aunt  Polly  in  return  advised  her 
to  leave  her  place  when  her  month  was  up,  informing  the 
family  of  her  intention,  that  they  might  supply  themselves. 
This  Susan  promised  to  do,  with  a  full  heart,  and  Aunt 
Polly  having  accomplished  her  mission,  set  out  on  -her 
return,  first'  saying  to  Susan,  however,  ".We'll  wait  for 
you,  you  needn't  be  afeard,  and  I'll  do  your  work  'till  you 
come,  .'taint -much,  for  we  puts  out  our  washin.  And  you 
need'nt  be  sceard  when  you  see  the  sogers,  they  aint  gwine 
to  hurt  you,  though  they  do  look  so  Savage." 

Susan  gave  notice  of  her  intention,  and  after  a  season 
of  martyrdom  set  forward  to  find  Captain  Moore's  quarters. 
She  had  no  difficulty,  for  Polly  was  looking  out  for  her, 
with  her  pipe  in  her  mouth.  "  Come  in,  child,"  said  she, 
"and  warm  yourself;  how  is  your  cough?  I  stewed  some 
molasses  for  you,  'gin  you  come.  We'll  go  up  and  see 
Miss  Emmy,  presently;  she  'spects  you." 

Susan  was  duly  introduced  to  Mrs.  Moore  who  was  at 
the  time  sitting  in  the  captain's  lap  with  the  baby  in  hers, 
and  Neptune's  forepaws  in  the  baby's.  The  captain's  tem- 
perance principles  did  not  forbid  him  smoking  a  good  cigar, 
and  at  the  moment  of  Susan's  entrance,  he  was  in  the  act 
of  emitting  stealthily  a  cloud  of  smoke  into  his  wife's  face. 
After  letting  the  baby  fall  out  of  her  lap,  and  taking  two 
or  three  short  breaths  with  strong  symptoms  of  choking, 
Mrs.  Moore  with  a  husky  voice  and  very  red  eyes,  welcomed 
Susan,  and  introduced  her  to  the  baby  and  Neptune,  then 
told  Aunt  Polly  to  show  her  where  to  put  her  clothes,  and 
to  make  her  comfortable  in  every  respect. 

Aunt  Polly  did  so  by  baking  her  a  hoe-cake,  and  broil- 
ing a  herring,  and  drawing  a  cup  of  strong  tea.  Su- 
san went  to  bed  scared  with  her  new  happiness,  and 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT   IS.  63 

dreamed  she  was  in  Georgia,  in  her  old  room,  with  the 
sick  baby  in  her  arms. 

Susan's  friends,  the  Abolitionists,  were  highly  indignant 
at  the  turn  affairs  had  taken.  They  had  accordingly  a 
new  and  fruitful  subject  of  discussion  at  the  sewing  socie- 
ties and  quilting  bees  of  the  town.  In  solemn  conclave  it 
was  decided  to  vote  army  people  down  as  utterly  disagree- 
.able.  One  old  maid  suggested  the  propriety  of  their  im- 
mediately getting  up  a  petition  for  disbanding  the  army; 
but  the  motion  was  laid  on  the  table  in  consideration  of 
John  Quincy  Adams  being  dead  and  buried,  and  therefore 
not  in  a  condition  to  present  the  petition.  Susan  became 
quite  cheerful,  and  gained  twenty  pounds  in  an  incredibly 
short  space  of  time,  though  strange  rumors  continued  to 
float  about  the  army.  It  was  stated  at  a  meeting  of  the 
F.  S.  F.  S.  T.  W.  T.  R.  (Female  Society  for  Setting  the 
World  to  Rights)  that  «  army  folks  were  a  low,  dissipated 
set,  for  they  put  wine  in  their  puddin  sauce." 

I  do  not  mean  to  say  liberty  is  not,  next  to  life,  the 
greatest  of  God's  earthly  gifts,  and  that  men  and  women 
ought  not  to  be  happier  free  than  slaves.  God  forbid  that 
I  should  so  have  read  my  Bible.  But  such  cases  as  Susan's 
do  occur,  and  far  oftener  than  the  raw-head  and  bloody- 
bones'  stories  with  which  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher  Stowe  has 
seeen  fit  to  embellish  that  interesting  romance,  Uncle 
Tom's  Cabin. 


64  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OK, 


-  CHAPTER  V. 

CAPT.  MOORE  suddenly  seized  the  poker,  and  commenced 
stirring  the  fire  vigorously.  Neptune  rushed  to  his  covert 
under  the  piano,  and  Mrs.  Moore  called  out,  "  Doni,  dear, 
for  heaven's  sake." 

"Why,  it's  getting  cold,"  said  Captain  Moore,  apologeti- 
cally. "  Don't  you  hear  the  wind  ?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  feel  it,  neither  do  you.  The  fire  can- 
not be  improved.  See  how  you  have  made  the  dust  fly ! 
You  never  can  let  well  alone." 

"  That  is  the  trouble  with  the  Abolitionists,"  said  Colonel 
Watson.  "They  can't  let  well  alone,  and  so  Mr.  Kent 
and  his  party  want  to  reorganize  the  Southern  country." 

"There  is  no  well  there  to  let  alone,"  said  Mr.  Kent, 
with  the  air  of  a  Solomon. 

'  "Don't  talk  so,  Mr.  Kent,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  entreat- 
ingly,  "for  I  can't  quarrel  with  you  in  my  own  house,  and 
I  feel  very  much  inclined  to  do  so  for  that  one  sentence." 

"Now,"  said  the  bachelor  captain,  "I  do  long  to  hear 
you  and  Mr.  Kent  discuss  Abolition.  The  colonel  and  I 
may  be  considered  disinterested  listeners,  as  we  hail  from 
the  Middle  States,  and  are  not  politicians.  Captain  Moore 
cannot  interfere,  as  he  is  host  as  well  as  husband ;  and 
Mr.  Jones  and  Scott  have  eaten  too  much  to  feel  much  in- 
terest in  any  thing  just  now.  Pray,  tell  Mr.  Kent,  my  dear 
madam,  of  Susan's  getting  you  to  intercede  with  her  mis- 
tress to  take  her  back,  and  see  what  he  says." 

"I  know  it  already,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "and  I  must  say 
that  I  am  surprised  to  find  Mrs.  Moore  inducing  a  fellow- 
creature  to  return  to  a  condition  so  dreadful  as  that  of  a 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  "AS   IT   IS.  65 


Southern  slave.  After  leaving  been  plucked  from  the  fire, 
it  should  be  painful  to  the  human  mind  to  see  her  thrown  in 
again." 

"Your  simile  is  not  a  good  one,  Mr.  Kent,"  said  Mrs. 
Moore,  with  a  heightened  color,  « I  can  make  a  better. 
Susan,  in  a  moment  of  delirium,  jumped  into  the  fire, 
and  she  called  on  me  to  pull  her  out.  Unfortunately,  I 
cannot  heal  all  the  burns,  for  I  yesterday  received  an  an- 
swer to  my  letter  to  her  mistress,  who  positively  refuses  to 
take  her  back.  She  is  willing,  but  Mr.  Casey  will  not 
consent  to  it.  He  says  that  his  wife  was  made  very  sick 
by  the  shock  of  losing  Susan,  and  the  over-exertion  nece's- 
sary  in  the  care  of  her  child.  The  baby  died  in  Boston ; 
and  they  cannot  overlook  Susan's  deserting  it  at  a  hotel, 
without  any  one*  to  take  charge  of  it ;  they  placing  such 
perfect  confidence  in  Susan,  too.  He  thinks  her  presence 
would  constantly  recall  to  Mrs.  Casey  her  child's  death ; 
besides,  after  having  lived  among  Abolitionists,  he  fancies 
it  would  not  be  prudent  to  bring  her  on  the  plantation. 
Having  attained  her  freedom,  he  says  she  must  make  the 
best  of  it.  Mrs.  Casey  enclosed  me  ten  dollars  to  give  to 
Susan,  for  I  wrote  her  she  was  in  bad  health,  and  had  very 
little  clothing  when  she  came  to  me.  Poor  girl!  I  could 
hardly  persuade  her  to  take  the  money,  and  soon  after,  she 
brotight  it  to  me  and  asked  me  to  keep  it  for  her,  and  not 
to  change  the  note  that  caihe  from  home.  I  felt  very  sorry 
for  her." 

"  She  deserves  it,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"I  think  she  does,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  smiling,  "though 
for  another  reason." 

Mr.  Kent  blushed  as  only  men  with  light  hair,  and  light 
skin,  and  light  eyes,  can  blush. 

"I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  furiously,  "she  deserves  her 
refusal  for  her  ingratitude.  After  God  provided  her 
friends  who  made  her  a  free  woman,  she  is  so  senseless  as 
to  want  to  go  back  to  be  lashed  and  trodden  under  foot 

G* 


66  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 


again,  as  the  slaves  of  the  South  are.  I  say,  she  deserves 
it  for  being  such  a  fool." 

"And  I  say,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  "she  deserves  it  for 
deserting  her  kind  mistress  at  a  time  when  she  most  needed 
her  services.  God  did  not  raise  her  up  friends  because 
she  had  done  wrong." 

"  You  are  right,  Emmy,  in  your  views  of  Susan's  con- 
duct ;  hut  you  should  be  careful  how  you  trace  motives  to 
such  a  source.  She  certainly  did  wrong,  and  she  has  suf- 
fered ;  that  is  all  we  can  say."  We  must  do  the  best  we 
can  to  restore  her  to  health.  She  is  very  happy  with  us 
now,  and  will,  no  doubt,  after  a  while,  enjoy  her  liberty : 
it  would  be  a  most  unnatural  thing  if  she  did  not." 

"  But  how  is  it,  Mr.  Kent,"  said  the  colonel,  "that  after 
you  induce  these  poor  devils  to  give  up  their  homes,  that 
you  do  not  start  them  in  life ;  set  them  going  in  some  way 
'in  the  new  world  to  which  you  transfer  them.  You  do 
not  give  them  a  copper,  I  am -told." 

"We  don't  calculate  to  do  that,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"I  believe  you,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  maliciously. 

Mr.  Kent  looked  indignant  at  the  interruption,  while 
his  discomfiture  was  very  amusing  to  the  young  officers, 
they  being  devoted  admirers  of  Mrs.  Moore's  talents  and 
mince  pies.  They  laughed  heartily ;  and  Mr.  Kent  looked 
at  them  as  if  nothing  would  have  induced  him  to  overlook 
their  impertinence  but  the  fact,  that  they  were  very  low 
on  the  list  of  lieutenants,  and  he  was  an  abolition  agent. 
"We  calculate,  sir,  to  give  them  their  freedom,  and  then 
let  them  look  out  for  themselves." 

"  That  is,  you  have  no  objection  to  their  living  in  the 
same  world  with  yourself,  provided  it  costs  you  nothing," 
said  the  colonel. 

"We  make  them  free,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  "They  have 
their  right  to  life,  liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness, 
They  are  no  longer  enslaved,  body  and  soul.  If  I  see  a 
man  with  his  hands  and  feet  chained,  and  I  break  those 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  67 


chains,  it  is  all  that  God  expects . me  to  do;  let  him  earn 
his  own  living." 

"  But  suppose  he  does  not  know  how  to  do  so,"  said  Mrs. 
Moore,  "what  then?  The  occupations  of  a  negro  at  the 
South  are  so  different  from  those  of  the  people  at  the 
North." 

"  Thank  God  they  are,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  grandly. 
"  We  have  no  overseers  to  draw  the  blood  of  their  fellow 
creatures,  and^  masters  to  look  on  and  laugh.  We  do  not 
snatch  infants  from  their  mothers'  breasts,  and  sell  them 
for  whisky/' 

"Neither  do  we,"  said  Mrs.  Moore,  her  bosom  heaving 
with  emotion ;  «  no  one  but  an  Abolitionist  could  have  had 
such  a  wicked  thought.  No  wonder  that  men  who  glory 
in  breaking  the  laws  of  their  country  should  make  such 
misstatements. " 

"Madam,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "they  are  facts;  we  can 
prove  them  ;  and  we  say  that  the  slaves  of  the  South  shall 
be  free,  cost  what  it  will.  The  men  of  the  North  have 
set  out  to  -emancipate  them,  and  they  will  do  it  if  they 
have  to  wade  through  fire,  water,  and  blood." 

"  You  had  better  not  talk  in  that  style  when  you  go 
South,"  said  Captain  Moore,  "unless  you  have  an  uncon- 
querable prejudice  in  favor  of  tar  and  feathers." 

"Who  cares  for  tar  and  feathers?"  said  Mr.  Kent; 
"  there  has  been  already  a  martyr  in  the  ranks  of  Abolition, 
and  there  may  be  more.  Lovejoy  died  a  glorious  martyr's 
death,  and  there  are  others  ready  to  do  the  same." 

"  Give  me  my  cane,  there,  captain,  if  you  please,"  said 
Colonel  Watson,  who  had  been  looking  at  Mr.  Kent's 
blazing  countenance  and  projecting  eyes,  in  utter  amaze- 
ment. "  Why,  Buena  Vista  was  nothing  to  this.  Good 
night,  madam,  and  do  tell  Susan  not  to  jump  into  the  fire 
again ;  I  wonder  she  was  not  burned  up  while  she  was 
there.  Come,  captain,  let  us  make  our  escape  while  we 
can." 


68  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 


The  captain  followed,  bidding  the  whole  party  good  night, 
with  a  smile.  He  had  been  perfectly  charmed  with  the 
Abolition  discussion.  Mr.  Jones  had  got  very  sleepy,  and 
he  and  Mr.  Scott  made  their  adieu.  Mr.  Kent,  with  some 
embarrassment,  bade  Mrs.  Moore  good  night.  Mrs.  Moore 
begged  him  to  go  South  and  be  converted,  for  she  believed 
his  whole  heart  required  changing.  Captain  Moore  fol- 
lowed them  to  the  door,  and  shivered  as  he  inhaled  the 
north-easter.  "  Come,  Emmy,"  said  he>  as  he  entered, 
rubbing  his  hands,  "you've  fought  for  your  country  this 
night;  let's  go  tolbed." 

Mrs.  Moore  lit  a  candle,  and  put  out  the  lard-lamp,  won- 
dering if  she  had  been  impolite  to  Mr.  Kent.  She  led  the 
way  to  the  staircase,  in  a  reflective  state  of  mind ;  Nep- 
tune followed,  and  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  for  some 
moments,  in  deep  thought ;  concluding  that  if  there  should 
be  danger  of  any  one's  falling  into  a  river  up  there,  they 
would  call  him  and  let  him  know,  he  went  back,  laid  down 
on  the  soft  rug,  and  fell  asleep  for  the  night. 

******* 

It  does  not  take  long  to  state  a  fact.  Mr.  Kent  went 
to  Washington  on  Abolition  business, — through  the  intro- 
duction of  a  senator  from  his  own  State  he  obtained  access 
to  good  society.  He  boarded  in  the  same  house  with  a 
Virginian  who  had  a  pretty  face,  very  little  sense,  but  a 
large  fortune.  Mr.  Kent,  with  very  little  difficulty,  per- 
suaded her  he  was  a  saint,  ready  to  be  translated  at  the 
shortest  notice.  He  dropped  his  Abolition  notions,  and 
they  were  married.  At  the  time  that  my  story  opens,  he 
is  a  planter,  living  near  Mr.  Weston,  and  we  will  hear  of 
him  again. 


SOUTHERN    LIFfi   AS    IT  JS.  60 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ARTHUR  WESZON  is  in  his  college-room  in  that  far-famed 
city,  New  Haven.  He  is  in  the  act  of  replacing  his  cigar 
in  his  mouth,  after  having  knocked  the  ashes  off  it,  when 
we  introduce  to  him  the  reader.  Though  not  well  em- 
ployed, his  first  appearance  must  be  prepossessing ;  he 
inherited  his  mother's  clear  brunette  complexion,  and  her 
fine  expressive  eyes.  His  very  black  haiv  he  had  thrown 
entirely  off  his  forehead,  and  he  is  now  reading  an  Aboli- 
tion paper  which  had  fallen  into  his  hands.  There  are 
two  other  young  men  in  the  room,  one  of  them  Arthur's 
friend,  Abel  Johnson ;  and  the  other,  a  young  man  by  the 
name  of  Hubbard. 

"Who  brought  this  paper  inta  my  room  ?"-  said  Arthur, 
after  laying  it  down  on  the  table  beside  him. 

"I  was  reading  it,'.'  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "and  threw  it 
aside." 

"  Well,  if  it  makes  no  difference  to  you,  Mr.  Hubbard, 
I'd  prefer  not  seeing  any  more  of  these  publications  about 
me.  This  number  is  a  literary  curiosity,  and  deserves  to 
be  preserved ;  but  as  I  do  not  file  papers  at  present,  I  will 
just  return  it,  after  expressing  my  thanks  to  you  for  afford- 
ing me  the-  means  of  obtaining  valuable  information  about 
the  Southern  country." 

-"What  is  it  about,  Arthur,"  said  Abel  Johnson,  "it  is 
too  hot  to  read  this  morning,  so-  pray  enlighten  me  ?" 

"Why,  here,"  said  Arthur,  opening  the  paper  again, 
"here  is  an  advertisement,  said  to  be  copied  from  a  South- 
ern paper,  in  which,  after  describing  a  runaway  slave,  it 
says :  <  I  will  give  four  hundred  dollars  for  him  alive,  and 
the  same  sum  for  satisfactory  proof  that  he  has  been 


70  AUNT  PIIILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 

killed.'  Then  the  editor  goes  on  to  say,  'that  when  a 
planter  loses  a  slave,  he  becomes  so  impatient  at  not  cap- 
turing him,  and  is  so  angry  at  the  loss,  that  he  then  does 
what  is  equivalent  to  inducing  some  person  to  murder  him 
by  way  of  revenge.'  Now,  is  not  this  infamous  ?" 

"But  it  is  true,  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard. 

".It  is  not  true,  sir,"  said  Arthur,  "it  is  false,  totally 
and  entirely  false.  Why,  sir,  do  you  mean  to  say,  that 
the  life  of  a  slave  is  in  the  power  of  a  master,  and  that  he 
i&  not  under  the  protection  of  our  laws  ?" 

"I  am  told  that  is  the  case,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard. 

"Then  you  are  told  what  is  not  tru6 ;  and  it  seems  to 
me,  you  are  remarkably  ignorant  of  the  laws  of  your 
country." 

"It  is  not  my  country,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "I  assure 
you.  I  lay  no  claims  to  that  part  of  the  United  States 
where  slavery  is  allowed." 

"  Then  if  it  is  not  your  country,  for  what  reason  do 
you  concern  yourself  so  much  about  its  aifairs?" 

"Because,"  replied  Mr.  Hubbard,  "  every  individual 
has  the  right  to  judge  for  himself,  of  his  own,  and  of 
other  countries." 

"No,  not  without  proper  information,"  said  Arthur. 
"  And  as  you  have  now  graduated  and  intend  to  be  a  lawyer, 
I  trust  you  will  have  consideration  enough  for  the  profes- 
sion, not  to  advance  opinions  until  you  are  sufficiently  in- 
formed to  enable  you  to  do  so  justly.  Every  country 
must  have  its  poor  people;  you  have  yours  at  the  North, 
for  I  see  them — we  have  ours ;  yours  are  white,  ours  are 
black.  I  say  yours  are  white ;  I  should  except  your  free 
blacks,  who  are  the  most  miserable  class  of  human  beings 
I  ever  saw.  They  are  indolent,  reckless,  and  impertinent. 
The  poorer  classes  of  society,  are  proverbially  improvi- 
dent— and  yours,  in  sickness,  and  in  old  age,  are  often 
victims  of  want  and  suffering.  Ours  in  such  circumstances, 
are  kindly  cared  for,  and  are  never  considered  a  burden ; 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  71 


our  laws'  are,  generally  speaking,  humane  and  faithfully 
administered.  We  have  enactments  which  not  only  pro- 
tect their  lives,  but  which  compel  their  owners  to  be 
moderate  in  working  them,  and  to  ensure  them  proper 
care  as  regards  their  food." 

"  But,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "you  have  other  laws,  police- 
laws,  which  deprive  them  of  the  most  innocent  recrea- 
tions, such  as  are  not  only  necessary  for  their  happiness, 
but  also  for  their  health." 

"And  if  such  laws  do  exist,"  said  Arthur,  "where  is 
the  cause  ?  You  may  trace  it  to  the  interference  of  med- 
dling, .and  unprincipled  men.  They  excite  the  minds  of 
the  slaves,  and  render  these  laws  necessary  for  the  very 
protection  of  our  lives.  But  without  this  interference, 
there  would  be  no  such  necessity.  In  this  Walsh's  Ap- 
peal, which  is  now  open  before  me,  you  will  find,  where 
Abel  left  off  reading,  these  remarks,  which  show  that  not 
only  the  health  and  comfort  of  the  slaves,  but  also  their 
feelings,  are  greatly  considered.  <  The  master  who  would 
deprive  his*  negro  of  his  property — the  product  "»f  his 
poultry-hous^e  or  his  little  garden ;  who  would  force  him 
to  work  on  holidays,  of  at  night ;  who  would  deny  him 
common  recreations,  or  leave  him  without  shelter  and 
provision,  in  his  old  age,  would  incur  the  aversion  of  the 
community,  and  raise  obstacles  to  the  advancement  of  his 
own  interest  and  external  aims.' ' 

"Then,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "you  mean  to  say,  he  is 
kind  from  self-interest  alone." 

"No,  I  do  not,"  replied  Arthur;  "that  undoubtedly, 
actuates  men  at  the  South,  as  it  does  men  at  the  North ; 
but  I  mean,  to  say,  so  universal  is  it  with  us  to  see  our 
slaves  well  treated,  that  when  an  instance  of  the  contrary 
nature  occurs,  the  author  of  it  is  subject  to  the  dislike 
and  odium  of  his  acquaintances." 

"But,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "that  does  not  always  pro- 
tect the  slaves — which  shows  that  your  laws  are  sometimes 


72  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN:    0-R, 

ineffectual.     They  are  not  always  secure  from-  ill-treat- 
ment." 

"But,  do  your  laws  always  secure  you  -from  ill-treat- 
ment?" said  Arthur. 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "  the  poorest  person  in 
New  England  is  as  safe  from  injustice  and  oppression,  as 
the  highest  in  the  land.'* 

.  "Nonsense,"  said  Arthur,  "don't  you  think  I  can  judge 
for  myself,  as  regards  that  ?  Abel,  do  tell  Mr.  Hubbard 
of  our  little  adventure  in  the  bakehouse." 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Abel,  "especially  as  you  two 
have  not  let  me  say  a  word  yet.  Well,  Mr.  Hubbard, 
Arthur  and  I  having  nothing  else  to  do,  got  hungry,  and 
as  it  was  a  fine  evening,  thought  we  would  walk  out  in 
search  of  something  to  satisfy  our  appetites,  and  there 
being  a  pretty  girl  in  Brown's  bakehouse,  who  waits  on 
customers,  we  .took  that  direction.  -  Arthur,  you  know,  is 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  has  no  excuse  for  such  things, 
but  I  having  no  such  ties,  am  free  to  search  for  pretty 
faces,  and  to  make  the  most  of  it  when  I  find  them.  We 
walked  on,  arm-in-arm,  and  when  we  got  to  the  shop, 
there  stood  Mrs.  Brown  behind  the  counter,  big  as  all  out 
doors,  with  a  very  red  face,  and  in  a  violent  perspiration ; 
there  was  some  thing  wrong  with  the  old  lady  'twas  easy 
to  see." 

"'  Well,  Mrs.  Brown,'  said  Arthur,  for  I  was  looking 
in  the  glass  cases  and  under  the  counter  for  the  pretty 
face,  '  have  you  any  rusk  ?' 

"'Yes,  sir,  we  always  nave  rusk,'  said  Mr.  Brown, 
tartly. 

"'Will  you  give  us  some,  a'nd  some  cakes,  or  whatever 
you  have?  and  then  we  will  go  and  get  some  soda  water, 
Abel.' 

"  Mrs.  Brown  fussed  about  like  a  'bear  with  a  sore  head,' 
and  at  last  she  broke  out  against  *£^a£  </«?.. 

"  'Where  on  earth  has  she  put  that  cake  ?'  said  she.   'I 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  73 


sent  her  in  here  with  it  an  hour  ago ;  just  like  her,  lazy, 
good-for-nothing  Irish  thing.  They're  nothing  but  white 
niggers,  after  all,  these  Irish.  Here,  Ann,'  she  bawled 
out,  <come  here !' 

«  <•  Coming,'  said  Ann,  from  within  the  glass  door. 

"  <  Come  this  minute,'  said  the  old  woman,  and  Ann's 
pretty  Irish  face  showed  itself  immediately. 

«  « Where's  that  'lection  cake  I  told  you  to  bring  here  ?' 

"  <  You  didn't  tell  me  to  bring  no  cake  here,  Mrs.  Brown,' 
said  Ann. 

«  'I  did,  you  little  liar,  you,'  said  Mrs.  Brown.  <  You 
Irish  are  born  liars.  Go,  bring  it  here.' 

"  Ann  disappeared,  and  soon  returned,  looking  triumph- 
ant. « Mr.  Brown  says  he  brought  it  in  when  you  told  him, 
and  covered  it  in  that  box — so  I  aint  such  a  liar,  after  all.' 

"  4  You  are-,'  said  Mrs.  Brown,  <  and  a  thief  too.' 

"Ann's  Irish  blood  was  up. 

"  <  I'm  neither,'  said  she;  <but  I'm  an  orphan,  and  poor; 
that's  why  I'm  scolded  and  cuffed  about.' 

"  Mrs.  Brown's  blood  was  up  too,  and  she  struck  the  poor 
girl  in  the  face,  and  her  big,  hard  hand  was  in  an  instant 
covered  with  blood,  which  spouted  out  from  Ann's  nose. 

"  <  Now  take  that  for  your  impudence,  and  you'll  get 
worse  next  time  you  go  disputing  with  me.' 

« « I  declare,  Mrs.  Brown,'  said  Arthur,  <  this  is,  I 
thought,  a  free  country.  I  did  not  know  you  could  take 
the  law  into  your  own  hands  in  that  style.' 

"  <That  gal's  the  bother  of  my  life,'  said  Mrs.  Brown. 
<  Mr.  Brown,  he  was  in  New  York  when  a  ship  come,  and 
that  gal's  father  and  mother  must  die  of  the  ship-fever, 
and  the  gaLwas  left,  and  Mr.  Brown  calculated  she  could 
be  made  to  save  us  hiring,  by  teaching  her  a  little.  She's 
smart  enough,  but  she's  the  hard-headedest,  obstinatest 
thing  I  ever  see.  I  can't  make  nothin'  of  her.  You  might 
as  well  try  to  draw  blood  out  of  a  turnip  as  to  get  any 
good  out  of  her.' 

7 


74  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


"<  You  got  some  good  blood  out  of  her,'  said  I,  <  at  any 
rate,'  for  Mrs.  Brown  was  wiping  her  hands, 'and  the  blood 
looked  red  and  healthy  enough;  <but  she  is  not  a  turnip, 
that's  one  thing  to  be  considered.' 

"'Well,  Mrs.  Brown,  r  good  evening,'  said' Arthur.  <I 
shall  tell  them  at  the  South  how  you  Northern  people 
treai  your  white  niggers.' 

"<I  wish  to  the  Lord,'  said  Mrs.  Brown,  <we  had  some 
real  niggers.  Here  I  am  sweatin,  and  workin,  and  bakin, 
all  these  hot  days,  and  Brown  he's  doin  nothin  from  morn- 
ing 'till  night  but  reading  Abolition  papers,  and  tendin 
Abolition  meetings.  I'm  not  much  better  than  a  nigger 
myself,  half  the  time.' 

"  Now,"  said  Arthur,  "  Mr.  Hubbard,  I  have  been  for- 
tunate in  my  experience.  I  have  never  seen  a  slave  woman 
struck  in  my  life,  though  I've  no  doubt  such  things  are 
done ;  and  I  assure  you  when  I  saw  Mrs.  Brown  run  the 
risk  of  spoiling  that  pretty  face  for  life,  I  wondered  your 
laws  did  not  protect  «  these  bound  gals,'  or  « white  niggers,' 
as  she  calls  them." 

"You  see,  Hubbard,"  said  Abel,  "your  philanthropy 
and  Arthur's  is  very  contracted.  He  only  feels  sympathy 
for  a  pretty  white  face,  you  for  a  black  one,  while  my  en- 
larged benevolence  induces  me  to  stand  up  for  all  female 
<phizmahoganies,'  especially  for  the  Hottentot  and  the  Ma- 
dagascar ones,  and  the  fair  sex  of  all  the  undiscovered 
islands  on  the  globe  in  general." 

"You  don't  think,  then,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  argumenta- 
tively,  "that  God's  curse  is  on  slavery,  do  yofu?" 

"  In  what  sense  ?"  asked  Arthur.  • "  I  think  that  slavery 
is,  and  always  was  a  curse,  and  that  the  Creator  intended 
what  he  said,  when  he  first  spoke  of  it,  through  Noah." 

"  But,  I  mean,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  "  that  it  will  bring  a 
curse  on  those  who  own  slaves." 

"No,  sir,"  said  Arthur,  "  God's  blessing  is,  and  always 
has  been  on  my  father,  who  is  a  slaveholder;  on  his 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  75 


father,  who  was  one ;  and  on  a  good  many  more  I  could 
mention.  In  fact,  I  could  bring  forward  quite  a  respecta- 
ble list  who  have  died  in  their  beds,  in  spite  of  their  egre- 
gious sin  in  this  respect.  There  are  Washington,  Jeffer- 
son, Madison,  Marshall,  Calhoun,  Henry  Clay,  and  not  a 
few  others.  In  this  case,  the  North,  as  has  been  said, 
says  to  her  sister  South,  <  Stand  aside,  for  I  am  holier  than 
thou !'  that  is,  you  didn't  need  them,  and  got  rid  of  them." 

"  We  were  all  born  free  and  equal,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard, 
impressively. 

"Equal!"  said  Abel,  "there  is  that  idiot,  with  his 
tongue  hanging  out  of  his  mouth,  across  the  street :  was 
he  born  equal  with  you?" 

"It  strikes  me,"  said  Arthur,  "that  our  slaves  are  not 
born  free." 

"They  ought  to  be  so,  then,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard. 

"Ah!  there  you  arraign  the  Creator,"  said  Arthur; 
"I  must  stop  now." 

"  What  do  you  think  is  the  meaning  of  the  text  <  Cursed 
be  Canaan,  a  servant  of  servants  shall  he  be  unto  his 
brethren,' Hubbard  ?"  said  Abel. 

"I  don't  think* it  justifies  slavery,"  said  Hubbard. 

"  Well,  what  does  it  mean  ?"  said  Abel.  "  It  must  mean 
something.  Now  I  am  at  present  between  two  doctrines ; 
so  I  am  neither  on  your  nor  on  Arthur's  side.  If  I  can't 
live  one  way  I  must  another  ;  and  these  are  hard  times. 
If  I  can't  distinguish  myself  in  law,  divinity,  or  physic, 
or  as  an  artist,  which!  I  would  prefer,  I  may  turn  planter, 
or  may  turn  Abolition  agent.  I  must  do  something  for 
my  living.  Having  no  slaves  I  can't  turn  planter ;  there- 
fore there  is  more  probability  of  my  talents  finding  their 
way  to  the  Abolition  ranks  ;  so  give  me  all  the  information 
you  can  on  the  subject." 

"  Go- to  the  Bible,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  «  and  learn  your 
duty  to  your  fellow-creatures." 

"  WeH,  here  is  a  Bible  my  mother  sent  here  for  Arthur 


76  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


and  myself,  with  the  commentaries.  This  is  Scott's  Com- 
mentary. Where  is  Canaan?"  said  he,  turning  over  the 
leaves ;  "he  is  very  hard  to  be  got  at." 

"You  are  too  far  over,"  said  Arthur,  laughkig,  "you 
are  not  in  the  habit  of  referring  to  Scott." 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Abel,  < Cursed  be  Canaan,  a  servant 
of  servants  shall  he  be  unto  his  brethren.'  And  in  another 
verse  we  see  « God  shall  enlarge  Japheth,  and  he  shall 
dwell  in  the  tents  of  Shem,  and  Canaan  shall  be  his  ser- 
vant.' So  we  are  Japheth  and  Shem,  and  the  colored 
population  are  Canaan.  Is  that  it,  Arthur?"  said  Abel. 

"See  what  Scott  says,  Abel,"  said  Arthur ;  "  I'm  not  a 
commentator." 

"Well,  here  it  is, — <  There  is  no  authority  for  altering 
the  text,  and  reading,  as  some  do,  Cursed  be  Ham,  the- 
father  of  Canaan,  yet  the  frequent  mention  of  Ham,  as  the 
father  of  Canaan,  suggests  the  thought  that  the  latter  was 
also  criminal.  Ham  is  thought  to  be  second,  and  not  the 
youngest  son  of  Noah ;  and  if  so,  the  words,  <  Knew  what 
his  younger  son  had  done,'  refers  to  Canaan,  his  grandson. 
Ham  must  have  felt  it  a  very  mortifying  rebuke,  when  his 
own  father  was  inspired  on  this  occasion  to  predict  the 
durable  oppression  and  slavery  of  his  posterity.  Canaan 
was  also  rebuked,  by  learning  that  the  curse  wrould  espe- 
cially rest  on  that  branch  of  the  family  which  should 
descend  from  him  ;  for  his  posterity  were  no  doubt  princi- 
pally, though  not  exclusively,  intended."' 

"  Now,"  continued  Abel,  "  I  shall  have  to  turn  planter, 
and  get  my  niggers  as  I  can ;  for  I'll  be  hanged  if  it 
wasn't  a  curse,  and  a  predicted  one,  too." 

"  That  does  not  make  it  right,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard. 

"Don't  it,"  said  Abel;  "well,  if  it  should  be  fated  for 
me  to  turn  parson,  I  shan't  study  divinity  with  you,  for 
my  mother  has  told  me  often,  that  God's  prophecies  were 
right,  and  were  fulfilled,  too ;  as  I  think  this  one  has 
been." 


SOUTHERN    LIFE.  AS    IT   IS.  77 


"I  suppose,  then,  you  think  slavery  will  always  conti- 
nue, Mr.  Weston?"  said  Hubbard. 

"  Well,  I  am  only  a  man,  and  cannot  prophesy,  but  I 
think,  probably  not.  Slavery  is  decreasing  throughout 
the  world.  The  slave  trade  is  about  being  abolished  on 
the  coast  of  Africa.  You  Abolitionists  are  getting  a  good 
many  off  from  our  southern  country,  and  our  planters  are 
setting  a  number  of  theirs  free,  and  sending  them  to 
Africa.  I  know  a  gentleman  in  Georgia  who  liberated  a 
number,  and  gave  them  the  means  to  start  in  Liberia  as 
free  agents  and  men.  He  told  me  he  saw  them  on  board, 
and  watched  the  ship  as  she  disappeared  from  his  sight. 
At  last  he  could  not  detect  the  smallest  trace  of  her,  and 
then  such  a  feeling  of  intense  satisfaction  occupied  his 
breast  as  had  been  a  stranger  there  until  that  time.  <  Is 
it  possible  that  they  are  gone,  and  I  am  no  longer  to  be 
plagued  with  them  ?  They  are  free,  and  I  am  free,  too.' 
He  could  hardly  give  vent  to  his  feelings  of  relief  on  the 
occasion." 

"And  are  they  such  trouble  to  you,  Arthur?"  asked 
Abel. 

«  No,  indeed,"  said  Arthur,  «  not  tha  least.  My  father 
treats  them  well,  and  they  appear  to  be  as  well  off  as  the 
working  classes  generally  are.  I  see  rules  to  regulate  the 
conduct  of  the  master  and  slave  in  Scripture,  but  I  see 
no  where  the  injunction  to  release  them  ;  nor  do  I  find 
laid  down  the  sin  of  holding  them.  The  fact  is,  you 
northern  people  are  full  of  your  isms ;  you  must  start  a 
new  one  every  year.  I  hope  they  will  not  travel  south, 
for  I  am  tired  of  them.  I  should  like  to  take  Deacon  and 
Mrs.  White  back  home  with  me.  Our  servants  would  be 
afraid  of  a  man  who  has  worked  sixteen  hours  a  day  half 
his  lifetime." 

"Deacon  White  is  worth  twenty  thousand  dollars,"  said 
Abel,  "  every  cent  of  which  he  made  mending  and  making 
common  shoes." 


78  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN  ;    OR, 


"What  does  lie  do  with  it  ?"  said  Arthur. 

«  Hoards  it  up,"  said  Abel,  "and  yet  an  honester  man 
never  lived.  Did  I  not  tell  you  of  the  time  I  hired  his 
horse  and  chaise  ?  I  believe  not ;  well,  it  is  worth  waiting 
for.  The  deacon's  old  white  horse  is  as  gray  and  as  docile 
as  himself;  the  fact  is,  the  stable  -is  so  near  the  house, 
that  the  horse  is  constantly  under  the  influence  of  <  Old 
Hundred;"  he  has  heard  the  good  old  tune  so  often,  that 
he  has  a  solemn  way  of  viewing  things.  Two  or  three 
weeks  ago  I  wanted  to  take  my  sister  to  see  a  relative  of 
ours,  who  lives  seven  or  eight  miles  from  here,  and  my 
mother  would  not  consent  to  my  driving  her,  unless  I  hired 
the  deacon's  horse  and  chaise — the  horse,  she  said,  could 
not  run  if  he  wanted  to.  So  I  got  him,  and  Harriet  asked 
Kate  Laune  to  go  too,  as  the  chaise  was  large  enough  for 
all  three  ;  and  we  had  a  good  time.  "We  were  gone  all  day, 
and  after  I  took  the  girls  home,  .1  drove  round  to  the  dea- 
con's house  and  jumped  out  of  the  chaise  to  pay  what  I 
owed. 

"  You  know  what  a  little  fellow  the  deacon  is,  and  he 
looked  particularly  small  that  eveningj  for  he  was  seated 
in  his  arm-chair  reading  a  large  newspaper  which  hid  him 
all  but  his  legs.  These  are  so  shrunken  that  I  wonder 
how  his  wife  gets  his  stockings  small  enough  for  him. 

"  <  Good  evening,  Mrs.  White,'  said  I,  for  the  old  lady 
was  sitting  on  the  steps  knitting. 

"'Mercy's  sake,  deacon,'  said  she,  <put  down  your 
newspaper;  don't  you  see  Mr.  Johnson?' 

"  <The  deacon  did  not  even  give  me- a  nod  until  he  had 
scrutinized  the  condition  of  the  horse  and  chaise,  and 
then  he  said,  <How  are  you?' 

"<Not  a  screw  loose  in  me,  or  the  horse  and  chaise 
either,  for  I  had  two  girls  with  me,  and  I'm  courting  one 
of  them  for  a  quarter,  so  I  drove  very  carefully.  I  am  in 
a  hurry  now,  tell  me  what  I  am  to  pay  you  ?' 


SOUTHERN    LIFE  >S   IT   IS.  79 


"<  Twelve  and,  a  half  cents,'  said  the  deacon,  slowly 
raising  his  spectacles  from  his  nose. 

«  <No  !'  said  I.  <  Twelve  and  a  half  cents  !  <  Why,  I 
have  had  the  horse  all  day.' 

"  «  That  is  my  price,'  said  the  deacon. 

"  <For  a  horse  and  chaise,  all  day?'  said  I.  Why,  dea- 
con, do  charge  me  something  that  I  aint  ashamed  to  pay 
you.' 

"  'That  is  my  regular  price,  and  I  can't  charge  you  any 
more.' 

"  I  remonstrated  with  him,  and  tried  to  persuade  him  to 
take  twenty-five  cents — but,  no.  I  appealed  to  Mrs.  White ; 
she  said  the  <  deacon  hadn't  ought  to  take  more  than  the 
hors.e  and  chaise  was  worth.'  However,  I  induced  him  to 
take  eighteen  and  three-quarter  cents,  but  he  was  uneasy 
about  it,  and  said  he  was  afraid  he  was  imposing  on  me. 

«  The  next  morning  I  was -awakened  at  day-dawn — there 
was  a  man,  they  said,  who  wanted  to  see  me  on  pressing 
business,  and  could  not  wait.  I  dressed  in  a  hurry,  won- 
dering what  was  the  cause  of  the  demand  for  college- 
students.  I  went  down,  and  there  stood  the  deacon,  look- 
ing as  if  his  last  hour  were  coine.  <Mr.  Abel,'  he  said,  <I 
have  passed  a  dreadful  restless  night,  and  I  couldn't  stand 
it  after  the  day  broke — here's  your  six  and  a  quarter  cents 
— I  hadn't  ought  have  charged  you  more  than  my  usual 
price.'  I  was  angry  at  the  old  fellow  for  waking  me  up, 
but  I  could  not  help  laughing,  too." 

"  <'Twas  very  ugly  of  youj  Mr.  Abel,  to  persuade  me  to 
take  so  much,'  said  he ;  <  you're  welcome  to  the  horse  and 
chaise  whenever  you  want  it,  but  twelve  and  a  half  cents 
is  my  usual  price.' ' 

"  tfow,"  said  Mr.  Hubbard,  «  he  is  like  the  Portuguese 
devils ;  when  they  are  good,  they  are  too  good — I  should 
distrust- that  man." 

"He  is  close  to  a  farthing,"  said  Abel,  "but  he  is  as 
honest  as  the  day.  Why  he  has  the  reputation  of  a  saint. 


80  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

Harriet  says  she  wishes  he  wore  a  long-tailed  coat  instead 
of  a  short  jacket,  so  that  she  could  hang  on  and  get  to 
heaven  that  way." 

«  My  sister  saw  Mrs.  White  not  long  ago,  and  compli- 
mented her  on  her  new  bonnet  being  so  very  becoming 
to  her.  <  Now  I  want  to  know  !'  said  Mrs.  White;  <  why  I 
thought  it  made  me  look  like  a  fright.' 

"  <But  what  made  you  get  a  black  one,'  said  Harriet, 
« why  did  you  not  get  a  dark  green  or  a  brown  one  V 

«  t  Why,  you  see,'  said  Mrs.  White,  <  the  deacon's  health 
is  a  failin' ;  he's  dreadful  low  in  the  top  knots  lately,  arid  I 
thought  as  his  time  might  come  very  soon,  I  might  as  well 
get  a  black  one  while  I  was- a  getting.  We're  all  born  to 
die,  Miss  Harriet;  and  the  deacon, is  dwindlin'  away.'" 

The  young  men  laughed,  and  Arthur  said  ".What  will  he 
do  with  his  -money  ?  Mrs.  White  will  not  wear  the  black 
bonnet  long  if  she  have  twenty  thousand  dollars;  she  can 
buy  a  new  bonnet  and  a  new  husband  with  that." 

"  No  danger,"  said  Abel,  "Deacon  White  has  made  his 
will,  and  has  left  his  wife  the  interest  of  five  thousand 
dollars ;  at  her  death  the  principal  goes,  as  all  the  rest,  to 
aid  .some  benevolent  purpose. 

"But  there  are  the  letters;  what  a  bundle  for  you, 
Arthur  !  That  is  the  penalty  of  being  engaged.  Well  I 
must  wait  for  the  widow  White,  I  guess  she'll  let  me  have 
the  use  of  the.  horse  and  chaise,  at  any  rate." 

Mr.  Hubbard  arose  to  go,  and  Arthur  handed  him  his 
newspaper.  "  That  is  a  valuable  document,  sir,  but  there  is 
one  still  more  so  in  your  library  here ;  it  is  a  paper  pub- 
lished the  same  month  and  year  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence,  in  which  are  advertised  in  the  New  England 
States  negroes  for  sale  !  Your  fathers  did  not  think  we 
were  all  born  free  and  equal  it  appears." 

"We  have  better  views  now-a-days,  said  Mr.  Hubbard ; 
the  Rev.  Mr.  H.  has  just  returned  from  a  tour  in  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  'AS   IT   IS.  81 

Southern  States,  and  he  is  to  lecture  to-night,  won't  you 
go  and  hear  him?" 

"  Thank  you,  no,"  said  Arthur.  "I  have  seen  some  of 
this  reverend  gentleman's  statements,  and  his  friends 
ought  to  advise  him  to  drop  the  reverend  for  life.  He 
is  a  fit  subject  for  an  asylum,  for  I  can't  think  a  man  in 
his  senses  would  lie  so." 

«  He  is  considered  a  man  of  veracity,"  said  Mr.  Hub- 
bard,  «  by  those  who  have  an  opportunity  of  knowing  his 
character." 

"Well,  I  differ  from  them,"  said  Arthur,  "and  shall 
deprive  myself  of  the  pleasure  of  hearing  him.  Good 
evening,  sir." 

"  Wouldn't  he  be  a  good  subject  for  tar  and  feathers, 
Arthur  ?  They'd  stick,  like  grim  death  to  a  dead  nigger," 
said  Abel. 

"He  is  really  such  a  fool,"  said  Arthur,  "  that  I  have 
no  patience  with  him  ;  but  you  take  your  usual  nap,  and  I 
will  read  my  letters." 


CHAPTER  VII.  * 

WE  will  go  back  to  the  last  evening  at  Exeter,  when  we 
left  Mr.  Weston  to  witness  the  result  of  Bacchus's  attend- 
ance at  the  barbecue.  There  were  other  hearts  busy  in 
the  quiet  night  time.  Alice,  resisting  the  offers  of  her 
maid  to  assist  her  in  undressing,  threw  herself  on  a  lounge 
by  the  open  window.  The  night  air  played  with  the  cur- 
tains, and  lifted  the  curls  from  her  brow.  Her  bloom, 
which  of  late  had  been  changeful  and  delicate,  had  now 
left  her  cheek,  and  languid  and  depressed  she  abandoned 
herself  to  thought.  So  absorbed  was  she,  that  she  was  not 
aware  any  one  had  entered  the  room,  until  her  mother 


82  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

stood  near,  gently  'reproving  her  for  thus  exposing  her- 
self to  the  night  air.  "Do  get  up  and  go  to  bed,"  she 
said.  «  Where  is  Martha  ?" 

"I  did  not  want  her,"  said  Alice;  "and  am  now  going 
to  bed  myself.  What  has  brought  you  here?" 

"  Because  I  felt  anxious  about  you,"  said  Mrs.  Weston, 
"  and  came,  as  I  have  often  before,  to  be  assured  that  you 
were  well  and  enjoying  repose.  I  find  you  still  up ;  and 
now,  my  daughter,  there  is  a  question  I  have  feared  to  ask 
you,  but  can  no  longer  delay  it.  By  all  the  love  that  is 
between  us,  by  the  tie  that  should  bind  an  only  child  to  a 
widowed  mother,  will  you  tell  me  what  are  the  thoughts  that 
are  oppressing  you  ?  I  have  been  anxious  for  your  health, 
but  is  there  not  more  cause  to  fear  for  your  happiness  ?" 

"I  am  well  enough,  dear  mother,"  said  Alice,  with 
some  irritation  of  manner,  "Do  noi  concern  yourself 
about  me.  If  you  will  go  to  bed,  I  will  too." 

"You  cannot  thus  put  me  off,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 
"  Alice,  I  charge  you,  as  in  the  presence  of  God,  to  tell  me 
truly:  do  you  love  Walter  Lee?" 

"  It  would  be  strange  if  I  did  not,"  said  Alice,  in 
a  low  voice.  "  Have  we  not  always  been  as  brother  and 
sister?" 

.<<  Not  in  that  sense,  Alice  ;  do  not  thus  evade  me.  Do 
you  love  him  with  an  affection  which  should  belong  to  -your 
cousin,  to  whom  you  are  solemnly  engaged,  who  has  been 
the  companion  of  your  childhood,  and  who  is  the  son  of 
the  best  friend  that  God  ever  raised  up  to  a  widow  and  a 
fatherless  child  ?" 

Alice  turned  her  head  away,  and  after  a  moment  answer- 
ed, "Yes,  I  do,  mother,  and  I* cannot  help  it."  But  on 
turning  to  look  at  her  mother,  she  was  shocked  at  the  ex- 
pression of  agony  displayed  on  her  countenance.  Her 
hand  was  pressed  tightly  over  her  heart,  her  lips  quivered, 
and  her  whole  person  trembled.  It  was  dreadful  to  see  her 
thus  agitated ;  and  Alice,  throwing  her  arms  around  her 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  83 


mother  exclaimed,  "What  is  it,  dearest  mother?  Do  not 
look  so  deathlike.  I  cannot  bear  to  see  you  so." 

Oh!  they  speak  falsely  who  say  the  -  certainty  of  evil 
can  be  better  borne  than  suspense.  Watcher  by  the  couch 
of  suffering,  sayest  thou  so  ?  Now  thou  knowest  there  is 
no  hope,  thy  darling  must  be  given  up.  There  is  no  mis- 
taking that  failing  pulse,  and  that  up-turned  eye.  A  few 
hours  ago,  there  was  suspense,  but  there  was  hope ;  death 
was  feared,  but  not  expected ;  his  arm  was  outstretched, 
but  the  blow  was  not  descending ;  now,  there  is  no  hope. 

Mrs.  Weston  had  long  feared  that  all  was  not  well  with 
Alice — that  while'her  promise  was  given  to  one,  her  heart 
had  wandered  to  another ;  yet  she  dreaded  to  meet  the 
appalling  certainty ;  now  with  her  there  is  no  hope.  The 
keen  anguish  with  which  she  contended  was  evident  to  her 
daughter,  who  was  affrighted  at  her  mother's  appearance. 
So  much  so,  that  for  the  firs-t?  time  for  months  she  entirely 
forgot  the  secret  she  had  been  hiding  in  her  heart.  The 
young  in  their  first  sorrow  dream  there  are  none  like  their 
own.  It  is  not  until  time  and  many  cares  have  bowed  us 
to  the  earth,  that  we  look  around,  beholding  those  who 
have  suffered  more  deeply  than  ourselves. 

Accustomed  to  self-control,  Mrs.  Weston  was  not  long 
in  recovering  herself;  taking  her  daughter's  hand  within 
her  own,  and  looking  up.  in  her  fair  face,  "  Alice,"  she 
said,  "  you  listened  with  an  unusual  interest  to  the  details 
of  suffering  of  one  whom  you  never  saw.  I  mean  Walter 
Lee's  mother ;  she  died.  I  can  tell  you  of  .one  who  has 
suffered,  and  lived. 

"  It  is  late,  and  I  fear  to  detain  you  from  your  rest,  but 
something  impels  me  that  I  cannot  resist.  Listen,  then, 
while  I  talk  to  you  of  myself.  You  are  as  yet  almost  un- 
acquainted with  your  mother's  history." 

"Another  time,  mother;  you  are  not  well  now,"  said 
Alice. 

"  Yes,  my  love,  now.    You  were  born  in  the  same  house 


84  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


that  I  was ;  yet  your  infancy  only  was  passed  where  I  lived 
until  my  marriage.  I  was  motherless  at  an  early  age ;  in- 
deed, one  of  the  first  remembrances  that  I  recall  is  the  bright 
and  glowing  summer  evening  when  my  mother  was  carried 
from  our  plantation  on  James  River  to  the  opposite  shore, 
where  was  our  family  burial-ground.  Can  I  ever  forget 
my  father's  uncontrolled  grief,  and  the  sorrow  of  the  ser- 
vants, as  they  followed,  dressed  in  the  deepest  mourning. 
I  was  terrified  at  the  solemn  and  dark-looking  bier,  the 
black  plumes  that  waved  over  it,  and  all  the  dread  accom- 
paniments of  death.  I  remember  but  little  for  years  after 
this,  save  the  continued  gloom  of  my  father,  and  his  con- 
stant affection  and  indulgence  toward  me,  and  occasionally 
varying  our  quiet  life  by  a  visit  to  Richmond  or  Washing- 
ton. 

«  My  father  was  a  sincere  and  practical  Christian.  He 
was  averse  to  parting  with  m« ;  declaring,  the  only  solace 
he  had  was  in  directing  my  education,  and  being  assured 
of  my  happiness. 

"My  governess  was  an  accomplished  and  amiable  lady, 
but  she  was  too  kind  and  yielding.  I  have  always  retained 
the  most  grateful  remembrance  of  her  care.  Thus,  though 
surrounded  by  good  influences,  I  needed  restraint,  where 
there  was  so  much  indulgence.  I  have  sometimes  ventured 
to  excuse  myself  on  the  ground  that  I  was  not  taught  that 
most  necessary  of  all  lessons :  the  power  of  governing  my- 
self. The  giving  up  of  my  own  will  to  the  matured  judg- 
ment of  others. 

"  The  part  of  my  life  that  I  wish  to  bring  before  you 
now,  is  the  year  previous  to  my  marriage.  Never  had  I 
received  an  ungentle  word  from  my  father;  never  in  all 
my  waywardness  and  selfwill  did  he  harshly  reprove  me. 
He  steadily  endeavored  to  impress  on  my  mind  a  sense 
of  the  constant  presence  of  God.  He  would  often  say, 
<  Every  moment,  every  hour  of  our  lives,  places  its  impress 
on  our  condition  in  eternity.  Live,  then,  as  did  your 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  85 


mother,  in  a  state  of  waiting  and  preparation  for  that  ac- 
count which  we  must  all  surely  give  for  the  talents  entrusted 
to  our  care.'  Did  I  heed  his  advice  ?  You  will  hardly 
believe  me,  Alice,  when  I  tell  you  how  I  repaid  his  tender- 
ness. I  was  the  cause  of  his  death." 

"It  could  never  be,  mother,"  said  Alice,  weeping,  when 
she  saw  the  tears  forcing  their  way  down  her  mother's 
cheek.  "You  are  excited  and  distressed  now.  Do  not 
tell  me  any  more  to-night,  and  forget  what  I  told  you." 

Mrs.  Weston  hardly  seemed  to  hear  her.  After  a  pause 
of  a  few  moments,  she  proceeded : 

"  It  was  so,  indeed.  I,  his  only  child,  was  the  cause  of 
his  death ;  I,  his  cherished  and  beloved  daughter,  committed 
an  act  that  broke  his  heart,  and  laid  the  foundation  of 
sorrows  for  me,  that  I  fear  will  only  end  with  my  life. 

"Alice,  I  read  not  long  since  of  a  son,  the  veriest  wretch 
on  earth ;  he  was  unwilling  to  grant  his  poor  aged  father 
a  subsistence  from  his  abundance ;  he  embittered  the  fail- 
ing years  of  his  life  by  unkindness  and  reproaches.  One 
day,  after  an  altercation  between  them,  the  son  seized  his 
father  by  his  thin,  white  hair,  and  dragged  him  to  the 
corner  of  the  street.  Here,  the  father  in  trembling  tones 
implored  his  pity.  <  Stop,  oh !  stop,  my  son,'  he  said,  <  for  I 
dragged  my  father  here.  God  has  punished  me  in  your  sin.' 

"Alice,  can  you  not  see  the  hand  of  a  just  God  in  this 
retribution,  and  do  you  wonder,  when  you  made  this  ac- 
knowledgment to  me  to-night,  the  agony  of  death  over- 
came me  ?  I  thought,  as  I  felt  His  hand  laid  heavily  upon 
me,  my  punishment  was  greater  than  I  could  beaf;  my 
sin  would  be  punished  in  your  sorrow ;  and  naught  but 
sorrow  would  be  your  portion  as  the  wife  of  Walter  Lee. 

"  Do-  not  interrupt  me,  it  is  time  we  were  asleep,  but  I 
shall  soon  have  finished  what  I  have  to  say.  My  father 
and  Mr.  Weston  were  friends  in  early  life,  and  I  was  thrown 
into  frequent  companionship  with  my  husband,  from  the 
time  when  we  were  very  young.  His  appearance,  his 


AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CA&IN;    OR, 


talents,  his  unvaried  gayety  of  disposition  won  my  regard. 
For  a  time,  the  excess  of  dissipation  in  which  he  indulged 
was  unknown  to  us,  but  on  our  return  to  Virginia  after  an 
absence  of  some  months  in  England,  it  could  no  longer  be 
concealed.  His  own  father  joined  with  mine  in  prohibit- 
ing all  intercourse  between  us.  For  a  time  his  family  con- 
sidered him  as  lost  to  them  and  to  himself;  he  was  utterly 
regardless  of  aught  save  what  contributed  to  his  own  plea- 
sures. I  only  mention  this  to  excuse  my  father  in  your 
eyes,  should  you  conclude  he  was  too  harsh  in  the  course 
he  insisted  I  should  pursue.  He  forbade  him  the  house, 
and  refused  to  allow  any  correspondence  between  us ;  at 
the  same  time  he  promised  that  if  he  would  perfectly  re- 
form from  the  life  he  was  leading,  at  the  end  of  two  years 
he  would  permit  the  marriage.  I  promised  in  return  to 
bind  myself  to  these  conditions.  Will  you  believe  it,  that 
seated  on  my  mother's  grave,  with  my  head  upon  my  kind 
father's  breast,  I  vowed,  that  as  I  hoped  for  Heaven  I  would 
never  break  my  promise,  never  see  him  again,  without 
my  father's  permission,  until  the  expiration  of  this  period ; 
and  yet  I  did  break  it.  I  have  nearly  done.  I  left  home 
secretly.  I  was  married ;  and  I  never  saw  my  father's 
face  again.  The  shock  of  my  disobedience  was  too  hard 
for  him  to  bear.  He  died,  and  in  vain  have  I  sought  a 
place  of  repentance,  though  I  sought  it  with  tears. 

"  I  have  suffered  much ;  but  though  I  cannot  conceal  from 
you  that  your  father  threw  away  the  best  portion  of  his  life, 
his  death  was  not  without  hope.  I  cling  to  the  trust  that 
his  sins  were  washed  away,  and  his  soul  made  clean  in  the 
blood  of  the  Saviour.  Then,  by  the  memory  of  all  that  I 
suffered,  and  of  that  father  whose  features  you  bear,  whose 
dying  words  gave  testimony  to  my  faithfulness  and  affec- 
tion to  him,  I  conjure  you  to  conquer  this  unfortunate 
passion,  which,  if  yielded  to,  will  end  in  your  unceasing 
misery. 

«  There  was  little  of  my  large  fortune  left  at  your  father's 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  87 


death;  we  have  been  almost  dependant  on  your  uncle. 
Yet  it  has  not  been  dependance ;  he  is  too  generous  to  let 
us  feel  that.  On  your  father's  death-bed,  he  was  all  in 
all  to  him — never  leaving  him ;  inducing  him  to  turn  his 
thoughts  to  the  future  opening  before  him.  He  taught  me 
where  to  look  for  comfort,  and  bore  with  me  when  in  my 
impatient  grief  I  refused  to  seek  it.  He  took  you,  then 
almost  an  infant,  to  his  -heart,  has  cherished  you  as  his 
own,  and  now  looks  forward  to  the  happiness  of  seeing  you 
his  son's  wife;  will  you  so  cruelly  disappoint  him?" 

"  I  will  do  whatever  you  ask  me,  dear  mother,"  said 
Alice.  "  I  will  never  see  Walter  again,  if  that  will  con- 
tent you.  I  have  already  told  him  that  I  can  never  be  to 
him  more  than  I  have  always  been — a  sister.  Yet  I  can- 
not help  loving  him." 

"  Cannot  help  loving  a  man  whose  very  birth  is  attended 
with  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Weston;  "whose  passions  are  un- 
governable, who  has  already  treated  with  the  basest  ingra- 
titude his  kindest  friends?  Have  you  so  little  pride?  I 
will  not  reproach  you,  my  darling ;  promise  me  you  will 
never  see  Walter  again,  after  to-morrow,  without  my  know- 
ledge. I  c.an  trust  you.  Oh !  give  up  forever  the  thought 
of  being  his  wife,  if  ever  you  have  entertained  it.  Time  will 
show  you  the  justice  of  my  fears,  and  time  will  bring  back 
your  old  feelings  for  Arthur,  and  we  shall  be  happy  again." 

"I  will  make  you  the  promise,"  said  Alice,  "and  I  will 
keep  it ;  but  I  will  not  deceive  Arthur.  Ungrateful  as  I 
may  appear,  he  shall  know  all.  He  will  then  love  some 
one  more  worthy  of  him  than  I  am." 

"Let  us  leave  the  future  in  the  hands  of  an  unerring 
God,  my  Alice.  Each  one  must  bear  her  burden,  I  would 
gladly  bear  yours ;  but  it  may  not  be.  Forget  all  this  for 
a  while;  let  me  sleep  by  you  to-night." 

Alice  could  not  but  be  soothed  by  the  gentle  tone,  and 
dear  caress.  Oh,  blessed  tie !  uniting  mother  and  child. 
Earth  cannot,  and  Heaven  will  not  break  it. 


88  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OK. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

As  absurd  would  it  be  for  one  of  the  small  unsettled 
stars,  for  whose  place'  and  wanderings  we  care  not,  to  usurp 
the  track  of  the  Queen  of  night  or  of  the  God  of  day,  as 
for  an  unpretending  writer  to  go  over  ground  that  has 
been  trodden  by  the  master  minds  of  the  age.  It  was  in 
the  olden  time  that  Cooper  described  a  dinner  party  in  all 
its  formal,  but  hospitable  perfection.  Washington  was  a 
guest  there,  too,  though  an  unacknowledged  one ;  we  can- 
not introduce  him  at  Exeter,  yet  I  could  bring  forward 
there,  more  than  one  who  knew  him  well,  valuing  him 
not  only  as  a  member  of  society  and  a  hero,  but  as  the 
man  chosen  by  God  for  a  great  purpose.  Besides,  I  would 

introduce  to  my  readers,  some  of  the  residents  of  L . 

I  would  let  them  into  the  very  heart  of  Virginia  life ;  and, 
although  I  cannot  arrogate  to  it  any  claims  for  superiority 
over  other  conditions  of  society,  among  people  of  the 
same  class  in  life,  yet,  at  least,  I  will  not  allow  an  infe- 
riority. As  variety  is  the  spice  of  society,  I  will  show 
them,  that  here  are  many  men  of  many  minds. 

Mark,  was  a  famous  waiter,  almost  equal  to  Bacchus, 
who  was  head  man,  on  such  occasions.  They  were  in 
their  elements  at  a  dinner  party,  and  the  sideboard,  and 
tables,  on  such  an  occasion,  were  in  their  holiday  attire. 
A  strong  arm,  a  hard  brush,  and  plenty  of  beeswax, 
banished  all  appearance  of  use,  and  the  old  servants 
thought  that  every  article  in  the  room  looked  as  bright 
and  handsome  as  on  the  occasion  of  their  young  mistress' 
first  presiding  at  her  table.  The  blinds  of  the  windows 
looking  south,  were  partly  open;  the  branches  of  the 
^mon-tree,  and  the  tendrils  of  the  white-jessamine,  as- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  89 


sistecl  in  shading  the  apartment,  making  it  fragrant  too. 
The  bird-cages  were  hung  among  the  branches  of  the 
flowers,  and  the  little  prisoners  sang  as  if  they  had,  at  last, 
found  a  way  of  escape  to  their  native  woods ;  old-fash- 
ioned silver  glittered  on  the  sideboard,  the  large  china 
punch-bowl  maintaining  its  position  in  the  centre. 

William  had  gone  to  the  drawing-room  to  announce  the 
important  intelligence,  "Dinner  is  ready !"  and  Bacchus 
looked  around  the  room  for  the  last  time,  to  see  that 
every  thing  was,  as  it  -should  be,  snuffing  up  the  rich 
fumes  of  the  soup  as  it  escap,ed  from  the  sides  of  the  silver- 
covered  tureen.  He  perceived  that  one  of  the  salt-cellars 
was  rather  near  the  corner  of  the  table,  and  had  only 
time  to  rearrange  it,  when  William  threw  open  the  doors. 
The  company  entered,  and  with  some  delay  and  formality 
took  their  places.  We  need  not  wait  until  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Aldie  says  grace,  though  that  would  not  detain  us  long ;  for 
the  Rev.  Mr.  Aldie,  besides  being  very  hungry,  has  a  great 
deal  of  tact,  and  believes  in  short  prayers ;  nor  will  we 
delay  to  witness  the  breaking  down  of  the  strongholds  of 
precision  and  urtra  propriety,  that  almost  always  solemn- 
izes the  commencement  of  an  entertainment;  but  the  old 
Madeira  having  been  passed  around,  we  will  listen  to  the 
conversation  that  is  going  on  from  different  parts  of  the 
table. 

"We  have  outlived,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  addressing 
a  northern  gentleman  present,  "we  have  outlived  the  first 
and  greatest  era  of  our  country.  Its  infancy  was  its 
greatest  era.  The*  spirit  of  Washington  still  breathes 
among  us.  One  or  two  of  us  here  have  conversed  with 
him,  sat  at  his  table,  taken  him  by  the  hand.  It  is  too 
soon  for  the  great  principles  that  animated  his  whole  career 
to  have  passed  from  our  memory.  I  am  not  a  very  old 
man,  gentlemen  and  ladies,  yet  it  seems  to  me  a  great 
while  since  the  day  of  Washington's  funeral.  My  father 
called  me  and  my  brothers  to  him,  and  while  our  mother 

8* 


90  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


was  fastening  a  band  of  black  crape  around  our  hats,  <  My 
boys/  said  he,  <you  have  seen  the  best  days  of  this  re- 
public.' It  is  so,  for  as  much  as  the  United  States  has 
increased  in  size,  and  power,  and  wealth,  since  then,  dif- 
ferent interests  are  dividing  her." 

«  Was  Washington  a  cheerful  man  ?"  asked  an  English 
gentleman  who  was  present,  "  I  have  heard  that  he  never 
laughed.  Is  it  so  ?" 

Miss  Janet,  who  was  considered  a  kind  of  oracle  when 
personal  memories  of  Washington  w^re  concerned,  an- 
swered after  a  moment's  pause,  « I  have  seen  him  smile 
often,  I  never  saw  him  laugh  but  once.  He  rode  over, 
one  afternoon,  to  see  a  relative  with  whom  I  was  staying; 
it  was  a  dark,  cloudy  day,  in  November;  a  brisk  wood 
fire  was  very  agreeable.  After  some  little  conversation 
on  ordinary  topics,  the  gentlemen  discussed  the  politics 
of  the  times,  Washington  saying  little,  but  listening 
attentively  to  others. 

"  The  door  opened  suddenly,  and  a  son  of  my  relative 
entered,  in  a  noisy  bustling  manner.  Passing  the  gentle- 
men with  a  nod,  he  turned  his  back  to  the  fire,  putting 
his  hands  behind  him.  <  Father,'  said  he,  scarcely  wait- 
ing until  the  sentence  that  General  Washington  was  utter- 
ing, was  finished,  <  what  do  you  think  ?  Uncle  Jack  and 
I  shot  a  duck  in  the  hea.d !'  He  deserved  a  reproof  for 
his  forwardness;  but  Washington  joined  the  rest  in  a 
laugh,  no  doubt  amused  at  the  estimation  in  which  the 
youth  held  himself  and  Uncle  Jack.  The  two  together, 
killed  a  duck,  and  the  boy  was  boasting  of  it  in  the  pre- 
sence of  the  greatest  man  the  world  ever  produced.  The 
poor  fellow  left  th«  room,  ami  for  a  time  his  sporting 
talents  were  joked  about  more  than  he  liked." 

After  the  ladies  retired,  Mr.  Selden  proposed  the  health 
of  the  amiable  George  Washington. 

"  Good  heavens !  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  the  veins  in 
his  temples  swelling,  and 'his  whole  frame  glowing  with 


SOUTHERN   LIFE    AS    IT   IS.  91 

vexation,  «  what  is  that  you  say  ?  Did  ever  any  one  hear 
of  a  soldier  being  amiable  ?  No,  sir,  I  will  give  you  a 
toast  that  was  drank  just  before  the  death  of  the  greatest 
and  best  of  men.  I  picked  up  an  old  newspaper,  and  laid 
it  aside  in  my  secretary.  In  it  I  read  a  toast  worth 
giving.  Fill  high,  gentlemen — 'The  man  who  forgets 
the  services  of  George  Washington,  may  he  be  forgotten 
by  his  country  and  his  God.' ' 

Mr.  Selden,  who  possessed  in  a  remarkable  degree  the 
amiableness  that  he  had  ascribed  to  another,  swallowed 
the  wine  and  approved  the  toast.  Mr.  Chapman  was  some 
time  recovering  his  composure. 

"You  intend  to  leave -Virginia  very  soon,  Mr.  Lee," 
said  Mr.  Kent,  addressing  Walter. 

"Very  soon,  sir,"  Walter  replied. 

"Where  shall  you  go  first  ?"  asked  Mr.  Kent. 

"I  have  not  decided  on  any  course  of  travel,"  said 
Walter.  "I  shall,  perhaps,  wander  toward  Germany." 

"  We  will  drink  your  health,  then,"  said  Mr.  Westori. 

"  A  pleasant  tour,  Walter,  and  a  safe  return." 

#  *  #  *  *  * 

"You  are  from  Connecticut,  I  believe,  Mr.  Perkins?" 
said  Mr.  Barbour,  "  but  as  you  are  not  an  Abolitionist,  I 
suppose  it  will  not  be  uncourteous  to  discuss  the  subject 
before  you.  I  have  in  my  memorandum  book  a  copy  of  a 
law  of  your  State,  which  was  in  existence  at  one  time, 
and  which  refers  to  what  we  have  been  conversing  about. 
It  supports  the  Fugitive  Slave  Law,  in  prospect.^  At  that 
time  you  New  Englanders  held  not  only  negro,  but  Indian 
slaves.'  Let  me  read  this,  gentleman.  'Be  it  enacted  by 
the  Governor,  Council,  and  Representatives',  in  General 
Court  assembled,  and  by  the  authority  of  the  same,  that 
whatsoever  negro,  mulatto,  or  Indian  servant  or  servants, 
shall  be  wandering  out  of  the  bounds  of  the  town  or  place 
to  which  they  belong,  without  a  ticket  or  pass,  in  writing, 
under  the  hand  of  some  Assistant  or  Justice  of  the  Peace, 


92  AUNT    PHILUS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


or  under  the  hand  of  the  master  or  owner  of  such  negro, 
mulatto,  or  Indian  servant  or  servants,  shall  be  deemed 
and  accounted  as  runaways,  and  may  be  treated  as  such. 
And  every  person  inhabiting  in  this  colony,  finding  or 
meeting  with  any  such  negro,  mulatto,  or  Indian  servant 
or  servants  not  having  a  ticket  as  aforesaid,  is  hereby  em- 
powered to  seize  and  secure  him  or  them,  and  bring  him 
or  them  before  the  next  authority,  to  be  examined  and  re- 
turned to  his  or  their  master  or  owner,  who  shall  satisfy 
the  charge  accruing  thereby. 

"  'And  all  ferrymen  within  the  colony  are  hereby  re- 
quested not  to  suffer  any  Indian,  mulatto,  or  negro  ser- 
vant without  certificate  as  aforesaid,  to  pass  over  their 
respective  ferries  by  assisting  them,  directly  or  indirectly, 
on  the  penalty  of  paying  a  fine  of  twenty  shillings  for 
every  such  offence,  to  the  owner  of  such  servants.'  In 
the  same  act,"  continued  Mr.  Barbour,  "a  free  person 
who  receives  any  property,  large  or  small,  from 'a  slave, 
without  an  order  from  his  master,  must  either  make  full 
restitution  or  be  openly  whipped  with  so  many  stripes,  (not 
exceeding  twenty.)" 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  who  was  an  im- 
petuous old  gentleman,  "  don't  you  see  thoste  Yankees 
were  close  enough  in  taking  care  of  their  own  slaves,  and 
if  they  could  have  raised  sugar  and  cotton,  or  had  deemed 
it  to  their  advantage  to  be  slaveholders  to  this  day,  they'd 
have  had  a  Fugitive  Slave  Law  long  before  this.  A 
Daniel  would  have  come  to  judgment  sooner  even  than 
the  immortal  Daniel  Webster." 

"Wait  a  moment,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Barbour. 
« Another  paragraph  of  the  same  act  provides,  <  that  if 
any  negro,  mulatto,  or  Indian  servant  or  slave,  shall  be 
found  abroad  from  home,  in  the  night  season,  after  nine 
o'clock,  without  a  special  order  from  his  or  their  master  or 
mistress,  it  shall  be  lawful  for  any  person  or  persons  to 
apprehend  and  secure  such  negro,  mulatto,  or  Indian  ser- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  93 

vant  or  slave,  so  offending,  and  him,  her,  or  them,  bring 
before  the  next  assistant  or  justice  of  the  peace,  which  au- 
thority shall  have  full  power  to  pass  sentence  upon  such 
servant  or  slave,  and  order  him,  her,  or  them,  to  be 
publicly  whipped  on  the  naked  body,  not  exceeding  ten 
stripes,  &c.' ' 

"Pretty  tight  laws  you  had,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chapman, 
addressing  Mr.  Perkins.  "A  woman  could  be  picked  up 
and  whipped,  at  the  report  of  any  body,  on  the  naked 
body.  Why,  sir,  if  we  had  such  laws  here,  it  would  be 
whipping  all  the  time,  (provided  so  infamous  a  law  could 
be  carried  into  execution.)  There  is  one  thing  certain, 
you  made  the  most  of  slavery  while  you  had  it." 

"But  we  have  repented  of  all  our  misdeeds,"  said  Mr. 
Perkins,  good-humouredly. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  "like  the  boy  that  stole  a 
penny,  and  when  he  found  it  wouldn't  buy  the  jack-knife 
he  wanted,  he  repented,  and  carried  it  to  the  owner." 

"  But  you  must  remember  the  times,  my  dear  sir,"  said 
Mr.  Perkins. 

"I  do,  I  do,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chapman.  "The  very  time 
that  you  had  come  for  freedom  yourself,  you  kidnapped 
the  noble  sons  of  the  soil,  and  made  menials  of  them.  I 
wonder  the  ground  "did  not  cry  out  against  you.  Now  we 
have  been  left  with  the  curse  of  slavery  upon  us,  (for  it  is 
in  some  respects  a  curse  on  the  negro  and  the  white  man,) 
and  God  may  see  fit  to  remove  it  from  us.  But  why  don't  the 
Abolitionists  buy  our  slaves,  and  send  them  to  Liberia?" 

"  That  would  be  against  their  principles,"  said  Mr. 
Perkins. 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  "but  d — n  their 
principles ;  it  is  against  their  pockets.  Why  don't  those 
who  write  Abolition  books,  give  the  profits  to  purchase 
some  of  these  poor  wretches  who  are  whipped  to  death, 
and  starved  to  death,  and  given  to  the  flies  to  eat  up,  and 
burned  alive ;  then  I  would  believe  in  their  principles,  or 


94  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OB, 

at  least  in  their  sincerity.  But  now  the-  fear  is  for  their 
pockets.  I  am  a  poor  man.  I  own  a  few  slaves,  and  I 
will  sell  them  to  any  Northern  man  or  woman  at  half-price 
for  what  I  could  get  from  a  trader,  and  they  may  send 
them  to  Liberia.  Lord  Tsir,  they'd  as  soon  think  of  buy- 
ing the  d — 1  himself.  You  must  excuse  my  strong  lan- 
guage, but  this  subject  irritates  me.  Not  long  ago,  I  was 
in  the  upper  part  of  the  State  of  New  York,  looking  about 
me,  for  I  do  look  about  me  wherever  I  am.  One  morning 
1  got  up  early,  and  walked  toward  the  new  railroad  that 
they  were  constructing  in  the  neighborhood.  I  chanced  to 
get  to  the  spot  just  in  time  to  see  a  little  fracas  between  a 
stout,  burly  Irishman,  and  the  superintendent  of  the  party. 

"  <I  thought,  be  Jasus,'  sa-id  the  Irishman,  just  as  I  ap- 
proached near  enough  to  hear  what  was  going  on,  < that  a 
man  could  see  himself  righted  in  a  free  country.' 

"'Go  to  your  work,'  said  the  superintendent,  < and  if 
you  say  another  word  about  it,  I'll  knock  you  over.' 

"  <  Is  it  you'll  knock,  me  over,  you  will,'  began  the  Irish- 
man. 

«  He  was  over  in  a  moment.  The  superintendent,  sir, 
gave  him  a  blow  between  the  eyes,  with  a  fist  that  was  hard 
as  iron.  The  man  staggered,  and  feH.'  I  helped  him  up,  sir ; 
and  I  reckon  he  thought  matters  might  be  worse  still,  for 
he  slowly  walked  off. 

u  <D d  free  country,'  he  muttered  to  me,  in  a  kind 

of  confidential  tone.  « I  thought  they  only  knocked  nig- 
gers over  in  Ameriky.  Be  me  soul,  but  I'll  go  back  to 
Ireland.' 

"I  Could  not  help  expressing  my  astonishment  to  the 
superintendent,  repeating  the  Irishman's  words,  <  I  thought 
only  niggers  could  be  knocked  over  in  this  country.' 

"'Niggers!'  said  the  superintendent,  <I  guess  if  you 
had  to  deal  with  Irishmen,  you'd  find  yourself  obliged  to 
knock  'em  down.' 

«  'But  don't  the  laws  protect  them?'  I  asked. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  95 


"  'Laws  !  why  railroads  have  to  be  made,  and  have  to  be 
made  the  right  way.  I  aint  afraid  of  the  laws.  I  think 
no  more  of  knocking  an  Irishman  over,  sir,  than  I  do  of 
eating  my  dinner.  One  is  as  necessary  as  the  other.' 

"Now,"  continued  Mr.  Chapman,  "if  an  Abolitionist 
sees  a  slave  knocked  over,  he  runs  home  to  tell  his  mammy; 
it's  enough  to  bring  fire  and  brimstone,  and  hail,  and  earth- 
quakes ,on  the  whole  country.  A  man  must  have  a  black 
skin  or  his  sorrows  can  never  reach  the  hearts  of  these 
gentlemen.  They  had  better  look  about  at  home.  There  is 
wrong  enough  there  to  make  a  fuss  about." 

"Well,"  said  the  Englishman,  "you  had  both  better 
come  back  to  the  mother  country.  The  beautiful  words, 
so  often  quoted,  of  Curran,  may  invite  you :  <  No  matter 
with  what  solemnities  he  may  have  been  devoted  upon  the 
altar  of  slavery,  the  moment  he  touches  the  sacred  soil  of 
Britain,  trie  altar  and  the  God  sink  together  in  the  dust, 
and  he  stands  redeemed,  regenerated,  and  disenthralled, 
by  the  irresistible  genius  of  universal -emancipation.' ' 

"Thank  you,  sir,  for  your  invitation,"  said  Mr.  Chap- 
man, "but  I'll  stay  in  Virginia.  The  old  State  is  good 
enough  for  me.  I  have  been  to  England,  and  I  saw  some 
of  your  redeemed,  regenerated,  disenthralled  people — I 
saw  features  on  women's  faces  that  haunted  me  afterward 
in  my  dreams.  I  saw  children  with  shrivelled,  attenuated 
limbs,  and  countenances  that  were  old  in  misery  and  vice 
— such  men,  women,  and  children*  as  Dickens  and  Char- 
lotte Elizabeth  tell  about.  My  little  grand-daughter  was 
recovering  from  a  severe  illness,  not  long  ago,  and  I  found 
her  weeping  in  her  old  nurse's  arms.  <  0 !  grandpa, 
said  she,  as  I  inquired  the  cause  of  her  distress,  <  I  have 
been  reading  «  The  Little  Pin-headers."  '  I  wept  over  it 
too,  for  it  was  true.  No,  sir ;  if  I  must  see  slavery,  let  me 
see  it  in  its  best  form,  as  it  exists  in  our  Southern 
country." 

"You  are  right,  sir,  I  fear,"  said  the  Englishman. 


96  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

"  Well,''  said  Mr.  Perkins,  " I  am  glad  I  am  not  a  slave- 
holder, for  one  reason ;  I  am  sure,  I  should  never  get  to 
heaven.  I  should  be  knocking  brains  out  from  morning 
till  night,  that  is  if  there  are  brains  under  all  that  mass 
of  wool.  Why,  they  are  so  slow,  and  inactive — I  should 
be  stumbling  over  them  all  the  time ;  though  from  the  speci- 
mens I  have  seen  in  your  house,  sir,  I  should  say  they 
made  most  agreeable  servants." 

"My  servants  are  Tery  faithful,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
"  they  have  had  great  pains  taken  with  them.  I  rarely 
have  any  complaints  from  the  overseer." 

"Your  overseers, — that  is  the  worst  feature  in  slavery," 
said  Mr.  Perkins. 

"  Why,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  ready  for  another  argu- 
ment, "you  have  your  superintendents  -at  the  North — and 
they  can  knock  their  people  down  whenever  they  see  fit." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Perkins.  "I  had 
forgotten  that." 

"  Stay  a  little  while  with  us,"  said  Mr.  Chapman,  as 
Mr.  Weston  rose  to  lead  the  way  to  the  drawing-room. 
«  You  will  not  find  us  so  bad  as  you  think.  We  may  roast 
a  negro  now  and  then,  when  we  have  a  barbecue,  but  that 
will  be  our  way  of  showing  you  hospitality.  You  must  re- 
member we  are  only  <poor  heathenish  Southerners,'  ac- 
cording to  the  best  received  opinions  of  some  who  live  with 

you  in  New  England." 

*  *  *  #  *  #  * 

"Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Weston',  at  a  late  hour  in  the  even- 
ing, when  the  last  of  the  guests  .were  taking  their  de- 
parture, "Walter  would  like  to  see  you  in  the  library;  but, 
my  love,  I  wish  you  would  spare  yourself  and  him  the 
useless  pain  of  parting." 

"I  must  see  him,  dear  mother,  do  not  refuse  me;  it  is 
for  the  last  time — pray,  let  me  go." 

"If  you  choose,"  and  Alice  glided  away  as  her  mother 
was  interrupted  by  the  leave-taking  of  some  of  their  visi- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  AS   IT   IS.  97 

tors.  The  forms,  the  courtesies  of  life  had  no  claims  upon 
her  now — she  was  enduring  her  first  sorrow ;  the  foundation 
of  youth's  slight  fabric  of  happiness  was  yielding  beneath 
her  touch.  The  dread  "nevermore,"  that  Edgar  Poe  could 
not  drive  from  his  heart  and  sight,  was  oppressing  her. 
She  sought  him  before  whom  her  young  heart  had  bowed, 
not  the  less  devotedly  and  humbly  that  it  was  silently  and 
secretly.  It  was  to  be  a  bitter  parting,  not  as  when  she 
watched  to  the  last  Arthur  Weston,  who  was  dear  to  her  as 
ever  was  brother  to  a  sister,  for  they  had  the  promise  and 
hope  of  meeting  again ;  but  now  there  was  no  tear  in  her 
eye,  no  trembling  in  her  frame,  and  no  hope  in  her  heart. 
From  the  utmost  depth  of  her  soul  arose  the  prophetic 
voice,  "Thou  shalt  see. him  no  more." 

"Alice,"  said  Walter,  taking  her  hand  between  both  of 
his,  and  gazing  at  her  face,  as  pale  and  sad  as  his  own, 
"it  is  your  mother's  wish  that  from  this  time  we  should 
be  strangers  to  each  other,  even  loving  as  we  do ;  that  our 
paths  on  earth  should  separate,  never  to  meet  again.  Is 
it  your  wish  too  ?" 

"We  must  part;  you  know  it,  Walter,"  said  Alice,  mus- 
ingly, looking  out  upon,  but  not  seeing  the  calm  river,  and 
the  stars  that  gazed  upon  its  waves,  and  all  the  solemn 
beauty  with  which  night  had  invested  herself. 

" But  you  love  me,  Alice;  and  will  you  see  me  go  from 
you  forever,  without  hope  ?  Will  you  yourself  speak  the 
word  that  sends  me  forth  a  wanderer  upon  the  earth?" 
said  Walter. 

"What  can  I  do  ?"  said  Alice. 

"  Choose,  Alice,  your  own  destiny,  and  fix  mine." 

«  Walter,  I  cannot  leave  my  mother ;  I  would  die  a^thou- 
sand  times  rather  than  bring  such  sorrow  upon  her  who 
has  known  so  much.  My  uncle,  too — my  more  than  fa- 
ther— oh!  Walter,  I  have  sinned,  and  I  suffer." 

"You  are  wise,  Alice ;  you  have  chosen  well;  you  cling 
to  mother,  and  home,  and  friends ;  I  have  none  of  these 

9 


98  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

ties ;  there  is  not  upon  earth  a  being  so  utterly  friendless 
as  I  am." 

"Dear  Walter,  you  have  friends,  and  you  can  make 
them ;  you  have  wealth,  talent,  and  many  gifts  from  God. 
Go  forth  into  the  world  'and  use  them.  Let  your  noble 
heart  take  courage;  and  in  assisting  others  and  making 
them  happy,  you  will  soon  be  happy  yourself." 

Walter  looked  at  her  with  surprise :  such  words  were 
unlike  her,  whom  he  had  been  accustomed  to  consider  a 
loving  and  lovely  child.  But  a  bitter  smile  passed  over 
his  countenance,  and  in  a  stern  voice  he  said,  "Arid  ,you, 
Alice,  what  are  you  to  do?" 

"  God  alone  knows,"  said  Alice,  forced  into  a  considera- 
tion of  her  own  sorrow,  and  resting  against  a  lounge  near 
which  she  had  been  standing.  She  wept  bitterly.  Walter 
did  not  attempt  to  restrain  her,  but  stood  a's  if  contem- 
plating a  grief  that  he  could  not  wish  to  control.  Alice 
again  spoke,  "  It  must  come,  dear  Walter,  first  or  last, 
and  we  may  as  well  speak  the  farewell  which  must  be 
spoken — but  I  could  endure  my  part,  if  I  had  the  hope 
that  you  will  be  happy.  Will  you  promise  me  you  will  try 
to  be?" 

"No,  Alice,  I  cannot  promise  you  that;  if  happiness 
were  in  our  own  power,  I  would  not  be  looking  on  you, 
whom  I  have  loved  all  my  life,  for  the  last  time. 

"But  I  will  hope,"  he  continued,  "you  may  be  fortunate 
enough  to  forget  and  be  happy." 

"  Children,"  said  Miss  Janet — for  she  had  gently  ap- 
proached them — "  do  you  know  when  and  where  happiness 
is  to  be  found?  When  we  have  done  all  that  God  has 
given  us  to  do  here ;  and  in  the  heaven,  above  those  stars 
that  are  now  looking  down  upon  you.  Look  upon  Alice, 
Walter,  with  the  hope  of  meeting  again ;  and  until  then, 
let  the  remembrance  of  her  beauty  and  her  love  be  ever 
about  you.  Let  her  hear  of  you  as  one  who  deserves  the 
pure  affection  of  her  young  and  trusting  heart.  You  have 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS. 


lived  as  brother  and  sister ;  part  as  such,  and  may  the 
blessing  of  God  be  upon  both  of  you  forever." 

Walter  took  Alice  in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  cheek; 
all  sternness  and  pride  had  gone  from  his  handsome  face, 
but  there  was  such  a.  look  of  hopeless  sorrow  there,  as  we 
would  not  willingly  behold  on  the  countenance  of  one  so 
young. 

Cousin  Janet  led  him  away,  and  with  words  of  solemn, 
deep  affection,  bade  him  farewell — words. that  came  again, 
for  a  time,  unheeded  and  unwelcomed — words  that  at  the 
last  brought  hope  and  peace  to  a  fainting  heart. 

Cousin  Janet  returned  to  Alice,  whose  face  lay  hidden 
within  her  hands:  "Alice,  darling,"  she  said,  "look  up — 
God  is  here ;  forget  your  own  grief,  and  think  of  one  who 
suffered,  and  who  feels  for  all  whe,  like  Him,  must  bear  the 
burden  of  mortality.  Think  of  your  many  blessings,  and 
how  grateful  you  should  feel  for  them ;  think  of  your 
mother,  who  for  years  wept  as_  you,  I  trust,  may  never 
weep ;  think  of  your  kind  uncle,  who  would  die  to  save  you 
an  hour's  pain.  Trust  the  future,  with  all  its  fears,  to 
God,  and  peace  will  come  with  the  very  effort  to  attain  it." 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Janet,"  said  Alice,  "  if  Walter  were  not 
so  lonely ;  he  knows  not  where  he  is  going,  nor  what  he 
is  going  to  do." 

"It  is  true,"  said  Cousin  Janet,  weeping  too;  "but  we 
can  hope,  and  trust,  and  pray.  And  now,  my  love,  let  us 
join  your  mother  in  her  room ;  it  is  a  sad  parting  for  her, 
too,  for  Walter  is  dear  to  us  all." 

Header !  have  so  many  years  passed  away,  that  thou 
hast  forgotten  the  bitterness  of  thy  first  sorrow,  or  is  it 
yet  to  come  ?  Thinkest  thou  there  is  a  way  of  escape — 
none,  unless  thou  art  young,  and  Death  interpose,-  saving 
thee  from  all  sadness,  and  writing  on  thy  grave,  "  Do  not 
weep  for  me,  thou  knowest  not  how  much  of  sorrow  this 
early  tomb  has  saved  me." 


100  AUNT  PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OB, 

When  were  thy  first  thoughts  of  death  ?  I  do  not  mean 
the  sight  of  the  coffin,  the  pall,  or  any  of  its  sad  accom- 
paniments, but  the  time  when  the  mind  first  arrested  it- 
self with  the  melancholy  convictions  of  mortality.  There 
was  a  holiday  for  me  in  my  young  days,  to  which  I  looked 
forward  as  the  Mohammedan  to  his  Paradise  ;  this  was  a 
visit  to  a  country-place,  where  I  revelled  in  the  breath  of 
the  woodbines  and  sweetbriers,  ^nd  where  I  sat  under  tall 
and  spreading  trees,  and  wondered  why  towns  and  cities 
were  ever  built.  The  great  willows  swept  the  windows  of 
the  chamber  where  I  slept,  and  faces  with  faded  eyes 
looked  upon  me  from  their  old  frames,  by  the  moonlight, 
as  I  fell  asleep,  after  the  day's  enjoyment.  I  never  tired 
of  wandering  through  the  gardens,  where  were  *roses  and 
sweet-williams,  hyacinths  and  honeysuckles,  and  flowers 
of  every  shape  and  hue.  This  was  tire  fairy  spot  of  my 
recollection,  for  even  childhood  has  its  cares,  and  there 
were  memories  of  little  griefs,  which  time  has  never  chased 
away.  There  I  used  to  meet  two  children,  who  often 
roamed  through  the  near  woods  with  me.  I  do  not  re- 
member their  ages  nor  their  names ;  they  were  younger 
though  than  I.  They  might  not  have  been  beautiful,-  but 
I  recollect  the  bright  eyes,  and  that  downy  velvet  hue  that 
is  only  found  on  the  soft  cheek  of  infancy. 

Summer  came;  and  when  I  went  again,  I  found  the 
clematis  sweeping  the  garden  walks,  and  the  lilies-of-the- 
valley  bending  under  the  weight  of  their  own  beauty.  So 
we  walked  along,  I  and  an  old  servant,  stopping  to  enter 
an  arbor,  or  to  raise  the  head  of  a  drooping  plant,  or  to 
pluck  a  sweet-scented  shrub,  and  place  it  in  my  bosom. 
"  Where  are  the  little  girls  ?"  I  asked.  «  Have  they  come 
again,  too?" 

"  Yes,  they  are  here,"  she  said,  as  we  approached  two 
little  mounds,  covered  over  with  the  dark-green  myrtle 
and  its  purple  flowers. 

"What  is  here?" 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS,  TT    IS.  101 

"  Child,  here  are  the  little  ones  you  asked  for." 

Oh !  those  little  myrtle-covered  graves,  how  wonder- 
ingly  I  gazed  upon  them.  There  was  no  thought  of  death 
mingled  with  my  meditation  ;  there  was,  of  quiet  and  re- 
pose, but  not  of  death.  I  had  seen  no  sickness,  no  suffer- 
ing, and  I  only  wondered  why  those  fair  children  had  laid 
down  under  the  myrtle.  I  fancied  them  with  the  fringed 
eyelids  drooping  over  the  cheeks,  and  the  velvet  hue  still 
there.  How  much  did  I  know  of  death  ?  As  little  as  of  life ! 

Time  passed  with  me,  and  I  saw  the  sorrows  of  others. 
Sometimes  I  thought  of  the  myrtle-covered  graves,  and  the 
children  that  slept  beneath.  Oh  !  how  quiet  they  must  be, 
they  utter  no  cry,  they  shed  no  tears. 

Time  passed,  and  an  angel  slept  in  my  bosom,  close  to 
my  heart.  Need  I  say  that  I  was  happy  when  she  nestled 
there?  that  her  voice  was  music  to  my  soul,  and  her  smile 
the  very  presence  of  beauty  ?  Need  I  say  it  was  joy  when 
she  Called  me,  Mother  ?  Then  I  lived  for  the  present ;  all 
the  sorrow  that  I  had  seen  around  me,  was  forgotten. 

God  called  that  angel  to  her  native  heaven,  and  I  wept. 
Now  was  the  mystery  of  the  myrtle-covered  graves  open 
before  my  sight.  I  had  seen  the  going  forth  of  a  little 
life  that  was  part  of  my  own,  I  remembered  the  hard  sighs 
that  convulsed  that  infant  breast.  I  knew  that  the  grave 
was  meant  to  hide  from  us,  silence  and  pallor,  desolation 
and  decay.  I  was  in  the  world,  no  longer  a  garden  of 
flowers,  where  I  sought  from  under  the  myrtle  for  the 
bright  eyes  and  the  velvet  cheeks.  I  was  in  the  world, 
and  death  was  there  too ;  it  was  by  my  side.  I  gave  my 
darling  to  the  earth,  and  felt  for  myself  the  bitterness  of 
tears. 

Thus  must  it  ever  be — by  actual  suffering  must  the 
young  be  persuaded  of  the  struggle  that  is  before  them — 
well  is  it  when  there  is  one  to  say,  «  God  is  here." 


102  AUKT  ,FHU,L!S'S   CABIN;   OK, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

WE  must  bring  Uncle  Bacchus's  wife  before  our  read- 
ers. She  is  a  tall,  dignified,  bright  mulatto  woman,  named 
Phillis ;  it  is  with  the  qualities  of  her  heart  and  mind, 
rather  than  her  appearance,  that  we  have  to  do.  Bayard 
Taylor,  writing  from  Nubia,  in  Upper  Egypt,  says: — 
"  Those  friends  of  the  African  race,  who  point  to  Egypt 
as  a  proof  of  what  that  race  has  done,  are  wholly  mistaken. 
The  only  negro  features  represented  in  Egyptian  sculpture 
are  those  of  the  slaves  and  captives  taken  in  the  Ethiopian 
wars  of  the  Pharaohs.  The  temples  and  pyramids  through- 
out Nubia,  as  far  as  Abyssinia,  all  bear  the  hieroglyphics 
of!  these  monarchs.  There  is  no  evidence  in  all  the  valley 
of  the  Nile  that  the  negro  race  ever  attained  a  higher  de- 
gree of  civilization  than  is  at  present  exhibited  in  Congo 
and  Ashantee.  I  mention  this,  not  from  any  feeling  hos- 
tile to  that  race,  but  simply  to  controvert  an  opinion  very 
prevalent  in  some  parts  of  the  United  States." 

It  seemed  impossible  to  know  Phillis  without  feeling  for 
her  sentiments  of  the  highest  respect.  The  blood  of  the 
freeman  and  the  slave  mingled  in  her  veins ;  her  well- 
regulated  mind  slowly  advanced  to  a  conclusion ;  but  once 
made,  she  rarely  changed  it. 

Phillis  would  have  been  truly  happy  to  have  obtained 
her  own  freedom,  and  that  of  her  husband  and  children : 
she  scorned  the  idea  of  running  away,  or  of  obtaining  it 
otherwise  than  as  a  gift  from  her  owner.  She  was  a  firm 
believer  in  the  Bible,  and  of+<\n  pondered  on  the  words  of 
the  angel,  "Return  and  submit  thyself  to  thy  mistress." 
She  had  on  one  occasion  accompanied  her  master  and  Mrs. 
Weston  to  the  North,  where  she  was  soon  found  out  by 
some  of  that  disinterested  class  of  individuals  called  Abo- 


SOUTHERN   LUE   AS   IT   IS.  103 


litionists.  In  reply  to  the  question,  "Are  you  free?" 
there  was  but  a  moment's  hesitation ;  her  pride  of  heart 
gave  way  to  her  inherent  love  of  truth,  "I'll  tell  no  lie," 
she  answered;  "I  am  a  slave!" 

"Why  do  you  not  take  your  freedom?"  was  the  rejoin- 
der. «  You  are  in  a  free  state ;  they  cannot  force  you  to  the 
South,  if  you  will  take  the  oifers  we  make  you,  and  leave 
your  master." 

"You  are  Abolitionists,  I  'spose?"  asked  Phillis. 

"We  are,"  they  said,  "and  we  will  help  you  off." 

"  I  want  none  of  your  help,"  said  Phillis.  "  My  husband 
and  children  are  at  home ;  but  if  they  wasn't,  I  am  an 
honest  woman,  and  am  not  in  the  habit  of  taking  any  thing. 
I'll  never  take  my  freedom.  If  my  master  would  give  it 
to  me,  and  the  rest  of  us,  I  should  be  thankful.  I  am  not 
going  to  begin  stealing,  and  I  fifty  years  of  age." 

An  eye-witness  described  the  straightening  of  her  tall 
figure,  and  the  indignant  flashing  of  her  eye,  also  the  dis- 
comfited looks  of  her  northern  friends. 

I  have  somewhere  read  of  a  fable  of  Iceland.  According 
to  it,  lost  souls  are  to  be  parched  in  the  burning  heat  of 
Hecla,  and  then  cast  for  ever  to  cool  in  its  never-thawing 
snows.  Although  Phillis  could  not  have  quoted  this,  her 
opinions  would  have  applied  it.  For  some  reason,  it  was 
evident  to  her  mind  (for  she  had  been  well  instructed  in 
the  Bible)  that  slavery  was  from  the  first  ordained  as  a 
curse.  It  might,  to  her  high  spirit,  have  been  like  burning 
in  the  bosom  of  Hecla ;  but  taking  refuge  among  Abolition- 
ists was,  from  the  many  instances  that  had  come  to  her 
knowledge,  like  cooling  in  its  never-thawing  snows. 

At  the  time  that  we  introduced  her  to  the  reader,  she 
was  the  mother  of  twelve,  children.  Some  were  quite 
young,  but  a  number  of  them  were  grown,  and  all  of  them, 
with  the  exception  of  one,  (the  namesake  of  his  father,) 
inherited  their  mother's  energy  of  character.  She  had 
accustomed  them  to  constant  industry,  and  unqualified 


104  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


obedience  to  her  directions;  and  for  this  reason,  no  one 
had  found  it  necessary  to  interfere  in  their  management. 

Pride  was  a  large  ingredient  in  Phillis's  composition. 
Although  her  husband  presented  one  of  the  blackest  visages 
the  sun  ever  shone  upon,  Phillis  appeared  to  ho.ld  in  small 
esteem  the  ordinary  servants  on  the  plantation.  She  was 
constantly  chiding  her  children  for  using  their  expressions, 
and  tried  to  keep  them  in  the  house  with  white  people  as 
much  as  possible,  that  they  might  acquire  good  manners. 
It  was  quite  a  grief  to  her  that  Bacchus  had  not  a  more  gen- 
teel dialect  than  the  one  he  used.  She  had  a  great  deal 
of  family  pride ;  there  was  a  difference  in  her  mind  be- 
tween family  servants  and  those  employed  in  field  labor. 
For  "the  quality"  she  had  the  highest  respect;  for  "poor 
white  people"  only  a  feeling  of  pity.  She  had  some 
noble  qualities,  and  some  great  weaknesses;  but  as  a 
slave  !  we  present  her  to  the  reader,  and  she  must  be  viewed 
as  such. 

Miss  Janet  was,  in  her  eyes,  perfection.  Her  children 
were  all  the  better  for  her  kind  instructions.  Her  youngest 
child,  Lydia,  a  girl  of  six  or  seven  years  old,  followed  the 
old  lady  everywhere,  carrying  her  key  and  knitting-bas- 
ket, looking  for  her  spectacles,  and  maintaining  short  con- 
versations in  a  confidential  tone. 

/  One  of  Phillis's  chiefest  virtues  was,  that  she  had  been 
able  to  bring  Bacchus  into  subjection,  with  the  exception 
of  his  love  for  an  occasional  spree,  f  Spoiled  by  an  indul- 
gent master,  his  conceit  and.wilfulness  had  made  him  un- 
popular with  the  servants,  though  his  high  tone  of  speak- 
ing, and  a  certain  pretension  in  his  manner  and  dress,  was 
not  without  its  effect.  He  was  a  sort  of  paiiiarch  among 
waiters  and  carriage-drivers ;  could  tell  anecdotes  of  din- 
ners where  Washington  was  a  guest ;  and  had  been  fami- 
liar with  certain  titled  people  from  abroad,  whose  shoes  he 
had  had  the  honor  of  polishing.  The  only  person  in  whose 
presence  he  restrained  his  braggadocio  style  was  Phillis. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  105 

Her  utter  contempt  for  nonsense  was  too  evident.  Bac- 
chus was  the  same  size  as  his  master,  and  often  fell  heir 
to  his  cast-off  clothes.  A  blue  dress-coat  and  buff  vest 
that  he  thus  inherited,  had  a  great  effect  upon  him,  bodily 
and  spiritually.  Not  only  did  he  swagger  more  when 
arrayed  in  them,  but  his  prayers  and  singing  were  doubly 
effective.  He  secretly  prided  himself  on  a  likeness  to  Mr. 
Weston,  but  this  must  have  been  from  a  confusion  of  mind 
into  which  he  was  thrown,  by  constantly  associating  him- 
self with  Mr.  Weston' s  coats  and  pantaloons. 

He  once  said  to  Phillis,  «  You  might  know  master  was 
a  born  gentleman  by  de  way  his  clothes  fits.  Dey  don't 
hang  about  him,  but  dey  'pears  as  if  dey  had  grow'd  about 
Trim  by  degrees  ;  and  if  you  notice,  dey  fits  me  in  de  same 
way.  Pity  I  can't  wear  his  shoes,  dey's  so  soft,  and  dey 
don't  creak.  I  hates  boots  and  shoes  all  time  creakin,  its 
so  like  poor  white  folks  when  they  get  dressed  up  on  Sun- 
day. I  wonders  often  Miss  Anna  don't  send  me  none  of 
master's  old  ruffled  shirts.  'Spose  she  thinks  a  servant 
oughtn't  to  wear  'em.  I  was  a  wishin  last  Sunday,  when  I 
gin  in  my  'sperience  in  meetin,  that  I  had  one  of  master's 
old  ruffled  shirts  on.  I  know  I  could  a  'scoursed  them  nig- 
gers powerful.  Its  a  hard  thing  to  wear  a  ruffled  shirt. 
Dey  sticks  crut  and  pushes  up  to  people's  chins — I  mean 
people  dat  aint  born  to  wear  'em.  Master  wears  'em  as  if 
he  was  born  in  'em,  and  I  could  too.  I  wish  you'd  put 
Miss  Janet  up  to  gittin  one  or  two  for  me.  Miss  Janet's 
mighty  'bliging  for  an  ole  maid ;  'pears  as  if  she  liked  to 
see  even  cats  happy.  When  an  ole  maid  don't  hate  cats, 
there  aint  nothin  to  be  feared  from  'em." 

Phillis  ruled  her  husband  in  most  things,  but  she  in- 
dulged him  in  all  his  whims  that  were  innocent.  She  de- 
termined he  should  have,  not  an  old  ruffled  shirt,  but  a  new 
one.  She  reported  the  case  to  Miss  Janet,  who  set  two  of 
her  girls  to  work,  and  by  Saturday  night  the  shirt  was 
made  and  done  up,  and  plaited.  Bacchus  was  to  be  plea- 


106  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OK, 


santly  surprised  by  it  next  morning  appearing  on  the  top 
of  his  chest. 

It  happened  that  on  this  identical  Sunday,  Bacchus  had 
(as  the  best  of  men  will  sometimes)  got  up  wrong  foot  fore- 
most, and  not  having  taken  the  trouble  to  go  back  to  bed, 
and  get  up  again,  putting  the  right  foot  out  first,  he  con- 
tinued in  the  same  unhappy  state  of  mind.  He.  made,  as 
was  his  wont,  a  hasty  toilet  before  breakfast.  He  wore  an 
old  shirt,  and  a  pair  of  pantaloons  that  did  not  reach  much 
above  his  hips.  One  of  his  slippers  had  no  instep ;  the 
other  wa£  without  a  heel.  His  grizzly  beard  made  him 
look  like  a  wild  man  of  the  woods  ;  a  certain  sardonic  ex- 
pression of  countenance-  contributed  to  this  effect.  He 
planted  his  chair  on  its  remaining  hind  leg  at  the  cabin 
door,  and  commenced  a  systematic  strain  of  grumbling  be- 
fore he  was  fairly  seated  in  it. 

"I  believe  in  my  soul,"  Phillis  heard  him  say,  "dat  ole 
Aunt  Peggy  al'ars  gits  up.  wrong  on  a  Sabbath  mornin. 
Will  any  one  hear  her  coughin  ?  My  narves  is  racked  a 
listenin  to  her.  I  don't  see  what  she  wants  to  live  for, 
and  she  most  a  hundred.  I  believe  its  purpose  to  bother 
me,  Sabbath  mornins.  Here,  Phillis,  who's  this  bin  here, 
diggin  up  my  sweet-williams  I  planted? — cuss  dese  chil- 
dren— " 

"  The  children  had  nothing  to  clo  with  it,"  said  Phillis. 
"  Master  wanted  some  roots  to  give  to  Mr.  Kent  and  he 
asked  me  for  'em.  I  dug  'em  up  and  they're  all  the  bet- 
ter for  being  thinned  out." 

"  I  wish  master  'd  mind  his  own  business,  and  not  be 
pryin  and  pilferin  'bout  other  people's  gardens;  givin  my 
flowers  to  that  yallow-headed  Abolitioner.  I'll  speak  my 
mind  to  him  about  it,  any  how." 

"You'd  better,"  said  Phillis,  drily. 

"I  will  so,"  said  Bacchus;  "I'd  rather  he'd  a  burned 
'em  up.  Kent's  so  cussed  mean,  I  don't  b'lieve  he'd  'low 
his  flowers  ground  to  grow  in  if  he  could  help  hisself.  If 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  107 


Miss  Nannie  'd  let  him,  he'd  string  them  niggers  of  hers 
up,  and  wallop  their  gizzards  out  of  'em.  I  hate  these 
Abolitioners.  I  knows  'em, — I  Tmows  their  pedigree." 

"Much  you  know  about  'em,"  said  Phillis,  who  was 
shaking  the  dew  drops  off  her  "morning  glory." 

" I  knows  enuff  of  'em — I  reckon  Miss  Nannie  do,  about 
dis  -time.  De  ole  gentleman  did  right,  any  how,  when  he 
lef  'em  all  to  her — if  he  hadn't,  dat  feller  would  a  sold 
'em  all  off  t&  Georgia  'fore  this,  and  a  runn'd  off  wid  de 
money." 

"Well,"  said  Phillis,  "you'd  better-  mind  your  own 
affairs  ;  come  in  and  eat  your  breakfast,  if  you  want  any, 
for  I  aint  going  to  keep  it  standin  there  all  day,  drawing 
the  flies." 

Bacchus  kicked  his  slippers  off  and  stumbled  into  a 
chair  beside  the  table.  "  I'll  swar,"  said  he,  after  a  glance 
at  the  fried  ham  and  eggs,  "if  ever  a  man  had  to  eat  sich 
cookin  as  dis.  Why  didn't  you  fry  '«m  a  little  more?" 
Phillis  not  minding  him,  he  condescended  to  eat  them  all, 
and  to  do  justice  to  the  meal  in  general. 

"The  old  fool,"  thought  Phillis,  amused  and  provoked; 
"talkin  of  master's  pilferin — never  mind,  I've  put  his 
ruffled  shirt  out,  and  he'll  get  in  a  good  humor  when  he 
sees  it,  I  reckon." 

Having  finished  his  breakfast,  Bacchus  put  an  enormous 
piece  of  tobacco  in  his  mouth,  and  commenced  sharpening 
a  small-sized  scythe,  that  he  called  a  razor.  In  doing  so, 
he  made  a  noise  like  a  high-pressure  steamboat,  now  and 
then  breathing  on  it,  and  going  in  a  severe  fit  of  coughing 
with  every  extra  exertion.  On  his  table  was  a  broken 
piece  of  looking-glass,  on  the  quicksilver  side  of  which, 
Arthur  had,  when  a  child,  drawn  a  horse.  Into  this  Bac- 
chus gave  a  look,  preparatory  to  commencing  operations. 
Then,  after  due  time  spent  in  lathering,  he  hewed  down 
at  each  shave,  an  amount  of  black  tow  that  was  hicon- 


108  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN.;  OR, 

ceivable.  After  he  had  done,  he  gathered  up  his  traps, 
and  stowed  them  away  in  the  corner  of  his  chest. 

Phillis  sat  outside  the  door,  smoking ;  looking  in  at  the 
window,  occasionally,  to  observe  the  effect  of  the  first  sight 
of  the  new  shirt.  She  saw  him  turn  toward  the  little  red 
painted  bureau,  on  which  she  had  laid  out  his  clean  clothes, 
starting  with  surprise  and  pleasure,  when  his  eye  first  took 
in  the  delightful  vision.  Cortez,  when  he  stood  conqueror 
of  Mexico,  did  not  feel  the  glow  of  satisfaction  that  thrilled 
through  Bacchus's  heart  as  he  gently  patted  the  plaited 
ruffles  and  examined  the  wristbands,  which  were  stitched 
with  the  utmost  neatness.  He  got  weak  in  the  knees  with 
pleasure,  and  sat  down  on  the  chest  in  the  corner,  to  sup- 
port with  more  ease  this  sudden  accession  of  happiness, 
while  his  wife  was  reaping  a  harvest  of  gratification  at  the 
success  of  her  efforts  toward  his  peace  of  mind.  All  at 
once  she  saw  a  change  pass  over  his  visage.  Bacchus  re- 
collected that  it  would  not  do  for  him  so  suddenly  to  get 
into  a  good  humor ;  besides,  he  reflected  it  was  no  more 
than  Phillis 's  duty  to  make  him  ruffled  shirts,  and  she 
ought  to  have  been  so  doing  for  the  last  twenty  years. 
These  considerations  induced  him  not  to  show  much  plea- 
sure on  the  occasion,  but  to  pretend  he  was  not  at  all  satis- 
fied with  the  style  and  workmanship  of  the  article  in  ques- 
tion. 

"Why,  lord  a  massy,"  said  he,  "Phillis,  what  do  you 
call  dis  here?  t'aint  a  shirt?  at  fust  I  thought  'twas  one 
of  Miss  Janet's  short  night  gowns  you'd  been  a  doing  up 
for  her." 

Phillis  smoked  on,  looking  inquiringly  into  the  distant 
hills. 

"  Phillis,  you  don't  mean  me  to  wear  dis  here  to  meetin  ? 
T'aint  fit.  Dese  wristbands  is  made  out  o'  cotton,  and  I 
Vlieves  in  my  soul  Aunt  Peggy  done  dis  stitchin  widout 
any  spectacles." 

Phillis  knocked  the  ashes  out  of  her  pipe,  and  puffed  on. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT  IS.  109 


"Look  here,  Phillis,"  said  Bacchus,  going  to  the  door 
as  fast  as  the  uncertain  condition  of  his  pantaloons  would 
allow  him,  "  did  you  'spose  I  was  sich  a  fool  as  to  wear 
dis  to  meetin  to-day?" 

"Yes,  I  did,"  saidPhillis. 

"  Why,  t'aint  fit  for  a  nigger  to  hoe  corn  in,  its  as  big 
as  a  hay-stack." 

"  Have  you  tried  it  on  ?"  asked  Phillis. 

"  T'aint  no  use,"  said  Bacchus,  "Lean  tell  by  de  looks." 

"I'm  sorry  you  don't  like  it,"  said  Phillis. 

"Like  it,"  said  Bacchus,  contemptuously,  "why,  if  it 
twasn't  for  the  trouble  of  going  to  my  chist,  I'd  wear  one 
of  my  old  ones.  Cuss  de  ruffles,  I  wish  you'd  cut  'em  off." 

Bacchus  went  in,  and  in  due  time  made  his  appearance 
in  full  dress.  He  wore  the  blue  coat  and  buff  vest,  and  a 
pair  of  white  pantaloons,  made  after  the  old  style.  His 
shoes  were  as  bright  as  his  eyes,  and  his  hat  dusted  until 
it  only  wanted  an  entire  new  nap  to  make  it  as  good  as 
new.  His  hair  was  combed  in  a  sort  of  mound  in  front, 
and  the  tout  ensemble  was  astounding.  He  passed  Phillis 
in  a  dignified  way,  as  if  she  were  a  valuable  cat  that  he 
would  not  like  to  tread  upon. 

Phillis  looked  after  him  with  a  most  determined  expres- 
sion of  face.  If  she  had  been  made  out  of  stone  she  could 
not  have  seemed  more  resolved.  She  got  up,  however, 
soon  after,  and  went  in  to  'arrange  matters  after  her  lord 
and  master. 

Bacchus  purposely  passed  Aunt  Peggy's  cabin,  making 
her  a  stylish  bow.  Peggy  had  taken  off  her  handker- 
chief, to  air  her  head,  her  hair  standing  off  every  which 
way,  appearing  determined  to  take  her  up  somewhere, 
the  point  of  destination  being  a  matter  of  no  consequence. 
She  chuckled  audibly  as  she  saw  Bacchus. 

"  Look  at  dat  ole  fool  now,  wid  dat  ruffled  shirt  on ; 
he's  gwine  to  bust  dis  blessed  mornin.  Look  at  de  way 
he's  got  his  wool  combed  up.  I  b'lieves  in  my  soul  he's 

10 


110  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


got  somebody  buried  up  thar.  He's  a  raal  ole  peacock. 
Dat's  de  way !  'Kase  I'm  ole  and  wuthless,  no  matter 
'bout  me ;  and  dat  ole  nigger  'lowed  to  make  a  fool  of  his- 
self,  dressin  up  drunk  in  a  ruffled  shirt.  No  matter,  I'll 
be  dead  and  out  of  der  way,  fore  long." 

Bacchus  prayed  with  great  effect  this  morning,  calling 
himself  and  the  whole  congregation  the  most  dreadful 
names,  with  the  utmost  satisfaction.  He  made  a  short 
address  too,  warning  the  servants  against  sin  in  general, 
and  a  loye  of  finery  in  particular.  On  his  return  he 
beamed  forth  upon  Phillis  like  one  of  her  own  "  morning 
glories."  -  The  rest  of  the  day  he  was  brimful  of  jokes 
and  religion. 

The  next  Sunday  came  around.  Phillis  smoked  outside 
while  Bacchus  made  his  toilet. 

"Phillis,"  said  the  old  fellow,  blandly,  coming  to  the 
door,  "I  don't  see  my  ruffled  shirt  out  here." 

"  High  !"  said  Phillis,  "  I  laid  your  shirt  with  the  rest ; 
but  I'll  look.  Here  it  is,"  said  she,  pleasantly,  "jest 
where  I  put  it." 

"Why,  whar's  the  ruffles?" 

"I  cut  'em  off,"  said  Phillis  ;  "you  asked  me  to." 

Bacchus  got  weak  in  the  knees  again,  and  had  to  sit 
down  on  the  old  chest.  Not  a  word  escaped  his  lips  ;  a 
deep  sigh  burst  from  the  pent-up  boiler  of  his  remorse. 
With  an  agonized  countenance  he  seized  a  piece  of  rag 
which  he  had  used  as  a  shaving  towel,  and  wiped  away  a 
repentant  tear.  His  soul  was  subdued  within  him.  He 
went  to  meeting,  but  declined  officiating  in  any  capacity, 
pleading  a  pain  in  his  stomach  as  an  excuse.  At  dinner 
he  found  it  impossible  to  finish  the  remaining  quarter  of  a 
very  tough  old  rooster  Phillis  had  stuffed  and  roasted  for 
him.  At  sundown  he  ate  a  small-sized  hoe-cake  and  a 
tin  pan  of  bonny  clabber ;  then  observing  "That  he  be- 
lieved he  was  put  into  dis  world  for  nothing  but  to  have 
trouble,"  he  took  to  his  bed. 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  Ill 

Phillis  saw  that  he  would  be  more  docile  for  the  rest 
of  his  life ;  for  a  moment,  the  thought  of  restoring  the 
shirt  to  its  original  splendor  occurred  to  her,  but  she 
chased  it  away  as  if  it  had  been  -a  fox,  and  took  the  great- 
est satisfaction  in  "having  given  the  old  fool  a  lesson  that 
would  last  him  all  the  days  of  his  life." 

"To  you,  generous  and  noble-minded  men  and  women 
of  the  South,  I  appeal^  (I  quote  the  words  of  a  late 
writer  on  Abolitionism,  when  I  say,)  Is  man  ever  a  crea- 
ture to  be  trusted  with  wholly  irresponsible  power  ?  Can 
anybody  fail  to  make  the  inference,  what  the  practical 
result  will  be  ? "  *  Although  she  is  here  speaking  of  slavery 
politically,  can  you  not  apply  it  tb  matrimony  in  this 
miserable  country  of  ours  ?  Can  we  not  remodel  our  hus- 
bands, place  them  under  our  thumbs,  and  shut  up  the 
escape  valves  of  their  grumbling  forever  ?  To  be  -sure, 
St.  Paul  exhorts  "  wives  to  be  obedient  to  their  own  hus- 
bands," and  "servants  to  be  obedient  to  their  own  mas- 
ters," but  St.  Paul  was  not  an  Abolitionist.  He  did  not 
take  into  consideration  the  necessities  of  the  free-soil 
party,  and  woman's  rights. .  This  is  the  era  of  mental  and 
bodily  emancipation.  Take  advantage  of  it,  wives  and 
negroes  !  But,  alas  for  the  former  !  there  is  no  society 
formed  for  their  benefit ;  their  day  of  deliverance  has  not 
yet  dawned,  and  until  its  first  gleamings  arise  in  the  east, 
they  must  wear  their  chains.  Except  when  some  strong- 
minded  female  steps  forth  from  the  degraded  ranks,  and 
asserts  her  position,  whether  by  giving  loose  to  that  unruly 
member  the  tongue,  or  by  a  piece  of  management  which 
will  give  "an  old  fool  a  lesson  that  will  last  him  all  the 
days  of  his  life." 

*  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin. 


112  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OK, 


CHAPTER  X. 

PHILLIS  was  at  her  ironing  early  in  the  morning,  for 
she  liked  to  hurry  it  over  before  the  heat  of  the  day. 
Her  cabin  doors  were  open,  and  her  flowers,  which 
had  been  watered  by  a  slight  rain  that  fell  about  day- 
break, looked  fresh  and  beautiful.  Her  house  could  be 
hardly  called  a  cabin,  for  it  was  very  much  superior  to  the 
others  on  the  plantation,  though  they  were  all  comfort- 
able. Phillis  was  regarded  by  the  Weston  family  as  the 
most  valuable  servant  they  owned — and,  apart  from  her 
services,  there  were  strong  reasons  why  they  were  at- 
tached to  her.  She  had  nursed  Mrs.  Weston  in  her  last 
illness,  and  as  her  death  occurred  immediately  after  Ar- 
thur's birth,  she  nourished  him  as  her  own  child,  and  loved 
him  quite  as  well.  Her  comfort  and  wishes  were  always 
objects  of  the  greatest  consideration  to  the  family,  and 
this  was  proved  whenever  occasion  allowed.  Her  neatly 
white-washed  cottage  was  enclosed  by  a  wooden  fence  in 
good  condition — her  little  garden  laid  out  with  great 
taste,  if  we  except  the  rows  of  stiffly-trimmed  box  which 
Phillis  took  pride  in.  A  large  willow  tree  shaded  one 
side  of  it;  and  on  the  other,  gaudy  sunflowers  reared 
their  heads,  and  the  white  and  Persian  lilacs,  contrasted 
with  them.  All  kinds  of  small  flowers  and  roses  adorned 
the  front  of  the  house,  and  you  might  as  well  have  sought 
for  a  diamond  over  the  whole  place,  as  a  weed.  The  back 
of  the  lot  was  arranged  for  the  accommodation  of  her 
pigs  and  chickens ;  and  two  enormous  peacocks,  that  were 
fond  of  sunning  themselves  by  the  front  door,  were  the 
handsomest  ornaments  about  the  place. 

The  room  in  which  Phillis  ironed,  was  not  encumbered 


SOUTHERN  LIFE   AS   IT  IS.  113 


with  much  furniture.  Her  ironing-table  occupied  a  large 
part  of  its  centre,  and  in  the  ample  fireplace  was  blazing 
a  fire  great  enough  to  cook  a  repast  for  a  moderate  num- 
ber of  giants.  Behind  the  back  door  stood  a  common 
pine  bedstead,  with  an  enormous  bed  upon  it.  How  any 
bedstead  held  such  a  bed  was  remarkable ;  for  Phillis  be- 
lieved there  was  a  virtue  in  feathers  even  in  the  hottest 
weather,  and  she  would  rather  have  gone  to  roost  on  the 
nearest  tree  than  to  have  slept  on  any  thing  else.  The 
quilt  was  of  a  domestic  blue  and  white,  her  own  manu- 
facture, and  the  cases  to  the  pillows  were  very  white  and 
smooth.  A  little,  common  trundle  bedstead  was  under- 
neath, and  on  it  was  the  bedding  which  was  used  for  the 
younger  children  at  night.  The  older  ones  slept  in  the 
servants'  wing  in  the  house,  Phillis  making  use  of  two 
enormous  chests,  which  were  Bacchus's,  and  her  ward- 
robes, for  sleeping  purposes  for  a  couple  more.  To  the 
right  of  the  bed,  was  the  small  chest  of  drawers,  over 
which  was  suspended  Bacchus's  many-sided  piece  of  shaving 
glass,  and  underneath  it  a  pine  box  containing  his  shaving 
weapons.  Several  chairs,  in  a  disabled  state,  found  places 
about  the  room,'  and  Phillis's  clothes-horse  stood  with  open 
arms,  ready  to  receive  the  white  and  well-ironed  linen  that 
was  destined  to  hang  upon  it.  On  each  side  of  the  fireplace 
was  a  small  dresser,  with  plates  and  jars  of  all  sizes  and 
varieties,  and  over  each  were  suspended  some  branches  of 
trees,  inviting  the  flies  to  rest  upon  them.  There  was  no 
cooking  done  in  this  room,  there  being  a  small  shed  for 
that  purpose,  back  of  the  house ;  not  a  spot  of  grease 
dimmed  the  whiteness  of  the  floors,  and  order  reigned  su- 
preme, marvellous  to  relate  !  where  a  descendant  of  Afiic's 
daughters  presided. 

Lydia  had  gone  as  usual  to  Miss  Janet,  and  several  of 
the  other  children  were  busy  about  the  yard,  feeding  the 
chickens,  sweeping  up,  and  employed  in  various  ways ;  the 
only  one  who  ever  felt  inclined  to  be  lazy,  and  who  was  in 

10* 


114  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

body  and  mind  the  counterpart  of  his  father,  being  seated 
on  the  door  step,  declaring  he  had  a  pain  in  his  foot. 

The  adjoining  room  was  the  place  in  which  Phillis's  soul 
delighted,  the  door  of  it  being  at  all  times  locked,  and  the 
key  lost  in  the  depths  of  her  capacious  pocket.  From 
this  place  of  retirement  it  emerged  when  any  of  the  family 
honored  her  with  their  company,  especially  when  attended 
by  visitors ;  and  after  their  departure,  traces  of  their  feet 
were  carefully  sought  with  keen  and  anxious  eyes,  and 
quickly  obliterated  with  broom  and  duster. 

This,  her  sanctum  sanctorum,  was  a  roomy  apartment 
with  three  windows,  each  shaded  by  white  cotton  curtains. 
On  the  floor  was  a  -home-made  carpet ;  no  hand  was  -em- 
ployed in  its  manufacture  save  its  owner's,  from  the  time 
she  commenced  tearing  the  rags  in  strips,  to  the  final  blow 
given  to  the  last  tack  that  confined  it  to  the  floor.  A  very 
high  post  bedstead,  over  which  were  suspended  white  cotton 
curtains,  gave  an  air  of  grandeur  to  one  side  of  the  room. 
No  one  had  slept  in  it  for  ten  years,  though  it  was  made 
with  faultless  precision.  The  quilt  over  it  contained  pieces 
of  every  calico  and  gingham  dress  that  had  been  worn  in 
the  Weston  family  since  the  Revolution,  and  in  the  centre 
had  been  transferred  from  a  remnant  of  curtain  calico,  an 
eagle  with  outstretched  wings.  The  pillow  cases  were 
finished  off  with  tape  trimming,  Alice's  work,  at  Cousin 
Janet's  suggestion.  Over  an  old  fashioned-mahogany 
bureau  hung  an  oval  looking  glass,  which  was  carefully 
covered  from  the  flies*  An  easy  chair  stood  by  the 
window  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  which  had,  like  most  of  the 
other  ancient  looking  pieces  of  furniture,  occupied  a  con- 
spicuous place  in  Mr.  Weston's  house.  Six  chairs  planted 
with  unyielding  stiffness  against  the  walls  seemed  to  grow 
out  of  the  carpet ;  and  the  very  high  fender  enclosed  a 
pair  of  andirons  that  any  body  with  tolerable  eyesight 
could  have  seen  their  faces  in. 

Over  the  mantel  piece  were  suspended  two  pictures.    One 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  115 


was  a  likeness  of  Mr.  Weston,  cut  in  paper  over  a  black 
surface,  with  both  hands  behind  him,  and  his  right  foot 
foremost ;  the  other  was  a  picture  of  the  Shepherds  in 
Pilgrim's  Progress,  gazing  through  a  spy-glass  at  the 
Celestial  city.  Alice's  first  sampler,  framed  in  a  black 
frame,  hung  on  one  side  of  the  room,  and  over  it  was  a 
small  sword  which  used  to  swing  by  Arthur's  side,  when 
receiving  lessons  in  military  science  from  Bacchus,  who,  in 
his  own  opinion,  was  another  Bonaparte.  Into  this  room 
Phillis's  children  gazed  with  wondering  eyes ;  and  those 
among  the  plantation  servants  who  had  been  honored  with 
a  sight  of  it,  declared  it  superior,  in  every  respect,  to  their 
master's  drawing  room ;  holding  in  especial  reverence  a 
small  table,  covered  with  white,  which  supported  the 
weight  of  Phillis's  family  Bible,  where  were  registered  in 
Arthur's  and  Alice's  handwriting,  the  births  of  all  her 
twelve  descendants,  as  well  as  the  ceremony  which  united 
her  to  their  illustrious  father. 

Phillis  was  ironing  away  with  a  good  heart,  when  she 
was  interrupted  by  a  summons  to  attend  her  master  in  the 
library.  She  obeyed  it  with  very  little  delay,  and  found 
Mr.  Weston  seated  in  his  arm-chair,  looking  over  a  note 
which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

«  Come  in,  Phillis,"  he  said,  in  a  kind  but  grave  manner. 
"I  want  to  speak  with  you  for  a  few  moments;  and  as  I 
have  always  found  you  truthful,  I  have  no  doubt  you  will 
be  perfectly  so  on  the  present  occasion." 

"What  is  it,  master?"  Phillis  said,  respectfully. 

"I  received  a  note,  yesterday,  from  Mr.  Dawson,  about 
his  servant  Jim,  who  ran  away  three  weeks  ago.  He 
charges  me  with  having  permitted  my  servants  to  shel- 
ter him  for  the  night,  on  my  plantation ;  having  certain  in- 
formation, that  he  was  seen  leaving  it  the  morning  after 
the  severe  storm  we  had  about  that  time.  If  you  know 
any  thing  of  it,  Phillis,  I  require  you  to  tell  it  to  me ;  I 
hardly  think  any  of  the  other  servants  had  opportunities 


116  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR. 


of  doing  so,  and  yet  I  cannot  believe  that  you  would  so  far 
forget  yourself  as  to  do  what  is  not  only  wrong,  but  calcu- 
lated to  involve  me  in  serious  difficulties  with  my  neigh- 
bors." 

"I  hope  you  will  not  be  angry  .with  ine,  master?"  said 
Phillis,  "but  I  can't  tell  a  lie;  I  let  Jim  stay  in- my  room 
that  night,  and  I've  been  mightily  troubled  about  it;  I 
was  afeard  you,  would  be  angry  with  me,  if  you  heard  of 
it,  and  yet,  master,  I  could  not  help  it  when  it  happened." 

«  Could  not  help  it !  Phillis,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "  What  do 
you  mean  by  that?  Why  did  you  not  inform  me  of  it, 
that  I  might  have  sent  him  off?" 

"I  couldn't  find  it  in  my  heart,  sir,"  said  Phillis,  the 
tears  coming  in  ber  fine  eyes.  "The  poor  creature  come 
in  when  the  storm  was  at  its  worst.  I  had  no  candle  lit, 
for  the  lightning  was  so  bright  that  I  hadn't  no  call  for 
any  other  light.  Bacchus  was  out  in  it  all,  ^and  I  was 
thinking  he  would  be  brought  in  dead  drunk,  or  dead  in 
earnest,  when  all  at  once  Jim  burst  open  the  door,  and 
asked  me  to  let  him  stay  there.  I  know'd  he  had  run 
away,  and  at  first  I  told  him  to  go  off,  and  not  be  gitting 
me  into  trouble ;  but,  master,  while  I  was  sending  him  off 
such  a  streak  of  lightning  come  in-,  and  such  a  crash  of 
thunder,  that  I  thought  the  Almighty  had  heard  me  turn 
him  out,  and  would  call  me  to  account  for  it,  when  Jim 
and  me  should  stand  before  him  at  the  Judgment  Day.  I 
told  Jim  he  had  better  go  back  to  his  master,  that  he 
wouldn't  have  any  comfort,  always  hiding  himself,  and 
afeard  to  show  his  face,  but  he  declared  he  would  die  first ; 
and  so  as  I  couldn't  persuade  him  to  go  home  agin,  I 
couldn't  help  myself,  for  I  thought  it  would  be  a  sin  and 
shame,  to  turn  a  beast  out  in  such  a  storm  as  that.  As 
soon  as  the  day  began  to  break,  and  before,  too,  I  woke 
him  up,  and  told  him  never  to  come  to  my  cabin  again,  no 
matter  what  happened.  And  so,  master,  I've  told  you  the 
whole  truth,  and  I  am  sure  you  couldn't  have  turned  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  117 


poor  wretch  out  to  perish  in  that  storm,  no  matter  what 
would  have  come  of  it  after." 

Phillis  had  gained  confidence  as  she  proceeded,  and  Mr. 
Weston  heard  her  without  interruption. 

"I  can  hardly  blame  you,"  he  then  said,  "for  what  you 
have  done;  but,  Phillis,  it  must  never  be  repeated.  Jim  is 
a  great  rascal,  and  if  I  were  his  master  I  would  be  glad 
to  be  rid  of  him,  but  my  plantation  must  not  shelter  run- 
away slaves.  I  am  responsible  for  what  my  servants  do. 
I  should  be  inclined  to  hold  other  gentlemen  responsible 
for  the  conduct  of  theirs.  The  laws  of  Virginia  require 
the  rights  of  the  master  to  be  respected,  and  though  I 
shan't  make  a  constable  of  myself,  still  I  will  not  allow 
any  such  thing  to  be  repeated.  Did  Bacchus  know  it?" 

"  No,  indeed,  sir ;  he  hates  Jim,  and  no  good,  may  be, 
would  have  come  of  his  knowing  it ;  besides,  he  was  asleep 
long  after  Jim  went  off,  and  there  was  too  much  whiskey 
in  him  to  depend  on  what  he'd  have  to  say." 

"  That  will  do,  Phillis ;  and  see  that  such  a  thing  never 
happens  again,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

Phillis  went  back  to  her  ironing,  assured  her  master  was 
not  angry  with  her.  Yet  she  sighed  as  she  thought  of  his 
saying,  "see  that  such  a  thing  never  happens  again." 
"  If  it  had  been  a  clear  night,"  she  thought  within  herself, 
"he  shouldn't  have  stayed  there.  But  it  was  the  Lord 
himself  that  sent  the  storm,  and  I  can't  see  that  he  never 
sends  another.  Anyway  its  done,  and  can't  be  helped;" 
and  Phillis  busied  herself  with  her  work  and  her  children. 

I  have  not  given  Phillis's  cottage  as  a  specimen  of  the 
cabins  of  the  negroes  of  the  South.  It  is  described  from 
the  house  of  a  favorite  servant.  Yet  are  their  cabins 
generally,  healthy  and  airy.  Interest,  as  well  as  a  wish  for 
the  comfort  and  happiness  of  the  slave,  dictates  an  atten- 
tion to  his  wants  and  feelings.  "  Slavery,"  says  Voltaire, 
"is  as  ancient  as  war;  war  as  human  nature."  It  is  to  be 
wished  that  truth  had  some  such  intimate  connection  with 


118  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


human  nature.  Who,  for  instance,  could  read  without  an 
indignant  thought,  the  following  description  from  the  pen 
of  Mrs.  Stowe :  "  They  (their  cabins)  were  rude  shells, 
destitute  of  any  pieces  of  furniture,  except  a  heap  of  straw, 
foul  with  dirt,  spread  confusedly  over  the  floor."  «  The 
small  village  was  alive  with  no  inviting  sounds;  hoarse, 
guttural  voices,  contending  at  the  handmills,  where  their 
morsel  of  hard  corn  was  yet  to  be  ground  into  meal  to  fit 
it  for  the  cake  that  was  to  constitute  their  only  supper." 
But  such  statements  need  no  denial;  the  very  appearance 
of  the  slaves  themselves  show  their  want  of  truth.  Look 
at  their  sound  and  healthy  limbs,  hear  the  odd,  but  sweet 
and  musical  song  that  arrests  the  traveler  as  he  goes  on 
his  way ;  listen  to  the  ready  jest  which  is  ever  on  his  lips, 
and  see  if  the  slavery  which  God  has  permitted  in  all  ages 
to  exist,  is  as  is  here  described;  and  judge  if  our  fair 
Southern  land  is  tenanted  by  such  fiends  as  they  are  repre- 
sented to  be,  by  those  who  are  trying  to  make  still  worse 
the  condition  of  a  mass  of  God's  creatures,  born  to  a  life 
of  toil,  but  comparative  freedom  from  care.  If  it  be  His 
will  that  men  should  be  born  free  and  equal,  that  will  is 
not  revealed  in  the  Bible  from  the  time  of  the  patriarchs 
to  the  present  day.  There  are  directions  there  for  the 
master  and  the  slave.  When  the  period  of  emancipation 
advances,  other  signs  of  the  times  will  herald  it-,  besides 
the  uncalled-for  interference,  and  the  gross  misrepresenta- 
tions, of  the  men  and  women  of  the  North. 

Sidney  Smith  said  of  a  man,  who  was  a  great  talker, 
that  a  few  flashes  of  silence  would  make  a  great  improve- 
ment in  him.  So  of  the  Abolition  cause,  a  few  flashes  of 
truth  would  make  it  decidedly  more  respectable. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AT   IT   IS.  119 


CHAPTER  XL 

"COME,  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Barb  our,  "I  hear,  not  the 
trump  of  war,  but  the  soul-inspiring  scrape  of  the  banjo. 
I  notice  the  servants  always  choose  the  warmest  nights  to 
dance  in.  Let  us  go  out  and  see  them." 

"We'll  go  to  the  arbor,"  said  Alice;  "where  we  will 
be  near  enough  to  see  Uncle  Bacchus's  professional  airs. 
Ole  Bull  can't  exceed  him  in  that  respect." 

"Nor  equal  him,"  said  Mr.  Barbour.  "Bacchus  is  a 
musician  by  nature ;  his  time  is  perfect ;  his  soul  is  absorbed 
in  his  twangs  and  flourishes." 

"  I  must  come,  too,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "You  are  afraid 
of  the  night  air,  Cousin  Janet?" 

"Never  mind  me,"  said  Cousin  Janet;  "I'll  sit  here 
and  fan  myself." 

"And  as  I  prefer  music,  especially  the  banjo,  at  a  dis- 
tance, I  will  stay  too,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 

Aunt  Phillis  was  smoking  outside  her  door,  her  mind 
divided  between  speculations  as  to  what  had  become  of 
Jim,  and  observations  on  the  servants,  as  they  were  col- 
lecting from  every  direction,  to  join  in  the  dancing  or  to  find 
a  good  seat  to  look  on. 

The  first  sound  of  the  banjo  aroused  Bacchus  the 
younger  from  his  dreams.  He  bounded  from  his  bed  on 
the  chest,  regardless  of  the  figure  he  cut  in  his  very  slight 
dishabille,  and  proceeded  to  the  front  door,  set,  as  his 
mother  would  have  said,  on  having  -his  own  way. 

"  Oh,  mammy,"  he  said,  "dare's  de  banjo." 

"  What  you  doin  here  ?"  said  Phillis.  "Go  long  to  bed 
this  minute,  'fore  I  take  a  switch  to  you." 


120  AUNT   PHILLIS'S-  CABIN ;    OB, 

"  Oh,  mammy,"  said  the  boy,  regardless  of  the  threat  in 
his  enthusiastic  state  of  mind,  "  jist  listen,  daddy's  gwine 
to  play  « Did  you  ever  see  the  devil  ?' ' 

"Will  any  body  listen  to  the  boy?  If  you  don't  go  to 
bed" 

"  Oh,  mammy,  please  lem  me  go.  Dare's  Jake,  he's 
gwine  to  dance.  Massa  said  I'd  beat  Jake  dancin  one  o' 
dese  days." 

"  High,"  said  Phillis;  "  where's  the  sore  foot  you  had  this 
morning?" 

"Its  done  got  well.  It  got  well  a  little  while  ago, 
while  I  was  asleep." 

"Bound  for  you;  go  long,"  said  Phillis. 

Bacchus  was  about  to  go,-  without  the  slightest  addition 
to  his  toilet. 

"Come  back  here,"  said  Phillis,  "you  real  cornfield 
nigger  ;  you  goin  there  naked?" 

The  boy  turned  back,  and  thrust  his  legs  in  a  pair  of 
pants,  with  twine  for  suspenders.  His  motions  were  much 
delayed,  by  his  nervous  state  of  agitation,  the  consequence 
of  the  music  which  was  now  going  on  in  earnest. 

He  got  off  finally,  not  without  a  parting  admonition  from 
his  mother. 

"Look  here,"  said  she,  "if  you  don't  behave  yourself, 
I'll  skin  you." 

Allusion  to  this  mysterious  mode  of  punishment  had  the 
effect  of  sobering  the  boy's  mind  in  a  very  slight  degree. 
No  sooner  was  he  out  of  his  mother's  sight  than  his  former 
vivacity  returned. 

His  father,  meanwhile,  had  turned  down  a  barrel,  and 
was  seated  on  it.  Every  attitude,  every  motion  of  his 
body,  told  that  his  soul,  forgetful  of  earth  and  earthly 
things,  had  withdrawn  to  the  regions  of  sound.  He  kicked 
his  slippers  off  keeping  time,  and  his  head  dodged  about 
with  every  turn  of  the  quick  tune.  A  stranger,  not  un- 
derstanding the  state  of  mind  into  which  a  negro  gets  after 


SOUTHERN  LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  121 

playing  «  The  devil  among  the  tailors,"  would  have  supposed 
he  was  afflicted  with  St.  Yitus's  dance.  The  mistake  would 
soon  have  been  perceived,  for  two  of  the  boys  having  tired 
themselves  out  with  manoeuvres  of  every  kind,  were  obliged 
to  sit  down-  to  get  some  breath,  and  Bacchus  fell  into  a 
sentimental  mood,  after  a  little  tuning  up. 

It  was  uncertain  in  what  strain  he  would  finally  go  off. 
First  came  a  bar  that  sounded  like  Auld  Lang  Syne,  then 
a  note  or  two  of  Days  of  Absence,  then  a  turn  of  a  Me- 
thodist hymn,  at  last  he  went  decidedly  into  "  Nelly  was 
a  lady."  The  tune  of  this- William  had  learned  from 
Alice  singing  it  to  the  piano.  He  begged  her  to  teach  him 
the  words.  She  did  so,  telling  him  of  the  chorus  part,  in 
which  many  were  to  unite.  Bacchus  prepared  an  accom- 
paniment ;  a  number  of  them  sang  it  together.  William 
sang  the  solos.  He  had  a  remarkably  good  voice  and  fine 
taste;  he  therefore  did  justice  to  the  sweet  song.  When 
the  full  but  subdued  chorus  burst  upon  the  ear,  every  heart 
felt  the  power  of  the  simple  strain;  the  master  with  his 
educated  mind  and  cultivated  taste,  and  the  slave  with  the 
complete  power  of  enjoyment  with  which  the  Creator  has 
endowed  him. 

Hardly  had  the  cadence  of  the  last  note  died  away, 
when  "Shout,  shout,  the  devil's  about,"  was  heard  from  a 
stentorian  voice.  Above  the  peals  of  laughter  with  which 
the  words  were  received,  rose  Jake's  voice,  "  Come  on,  ole 
fiddler,  play  somefin  a  nigger  kin  kick  up  his  heels  to ;  what's 
de  use  of  singing  after  dat  fashion;  dis  aint  no  meetin." 

"  What'll  you  have,  Jake  ?"  said  Bacchus. 

"What'll  I  have?  Why,* I  never  dances  to  but  one 
tune,"  and  Jake  started  the  first  line  of  "Oh,  plantation 
gals,  can't  you  look  at  a  body,"  while  Bacchus  was  giving 
a  prelude  of  scrapes  and  twangs.  Jake  made  a  circle  of 
somersets,  and  come  down  on  his  head,  with  his  heels  in 
the  air,  going  through  flourishes  that  would  have  astonished 
an  uninitiated  observer.  As  it  was,  Jake's  audience  were  in 

11 


122 

a  high  condition  of  enjoyment.  They  were  in  a  constant 
state  of  expectation  as  to  where  he  would  turn  up,  or  what 
would  be  the  nature  of  the  next  caper.  Now,,  he  cut  the 
pigeon-wing  for  a  length  of  time  that  made  the  spectators 
hold  their  breath;  then  he  would,  so  to  speak,  stand  on  his 
hands,  and  with  his  feet  give  a  push  to  the  barrel  where 
Uncle  Bacchus  was  sitting,  and  nearly  roll  the  old  man  un- 
derneath. One  moment  he  is  dancing  with  every  limby 
making  the  most  curious  contortions  of  his  face,  rolling 
out  his  tongue,  turning  his^  eyes  wrong  side  out.  Suddenly, 
he  stretches  himself  on  the  grass,  snoring. to  a  degree  that 
might  be  heard  at  almost  any  distance.  Starting  up,  he 
snaps. his  fingers,  twirls  round,  first  on  one  foot,  and  then 
on  the  other,  till  feeling  the  time  approaching  when  Jae 
must  give  up,  he  strikes  up  again: 

"  Shout,  shout,  the  devil's  about ; 
Shut  the  door  and  keep  him  but," 

leaps  frog  over  two  or  three  of  the  servants'  shoulders, 
disappearing  from  among  them  in  an  immoderate  state  of 
conceit  and  perspiration. 

Bacchus  is  forced  at  this  crisis  to  put  down  the  banjo 
and  wipe  his  face  with  his  sleeve,  breathing  very  hard. 
He  was  thinking  he  wouldn't  get  near  so  tired  if  he  had 
a  little  of  the  "  Oh,  be  joyful"  to  keep  up  his  spirits,  but 
such  aspirations  were  utterly  hopeless  at  the  present  time  : 
getting  tipsy  while  his  master,  and  Mr.  Barbour,  and 
Alice  were  looking  at  him,  was  quite  out  of  the  question. 
He  made  a  merit  of  keeping  sober,  too,  on  the  ground  of 
setting  a  good  example  to  the  young  servants.  He  con- 
soled himself  with  a  double-sized  piece  of  tobacco,  and 
rested  after  his  efforts.  His  promising  son  danced  Juba 
at  Mr.  Weston's  particular  request,  and  was  rewarded  by 
great  applause. 

A  little  courting  scene  was  going  on  at  this  time,  not 
far  distant.  Esther,  Phillis's  third  daughter,  was  a  neat, 


''  SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  123 


genteel-looking  servant,  entirely  above  associating  with 
«  common  niggers,"  as  she  styled  those  who,  being  con- 
stantly employed  about  the  field,  had  not  the  advantage 
of  being  called  upon  in  the  liouse,  and  were  thus  vejy  de- 
ficient in  manners  and  appearance  from  those  who  were 
so  much  under  the  eye  of  the  family.  Esther,  like  her 
mother,  was  a  great  Methodist.  Reading  well,  she  was 
familiar  with  the  Bible,  and  had  committed  to  memory  a 
vast  number  of  hymns.  These,  she  and  her  sister,  with 
William,  often  Bung  in  the  kitchen,  or  at  her  mother's 
cabin.  Miss  Janet  declared  it  reminded  her  of  the  em- 
ployment of  the  saints  in  heaven,  more  than  any  church 
music  she"  had  ever  heard ;  especially  when  they  sang, 
«  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight." 

That  heart  must  be  steeled  against  the  sweet  influences 
of  the  Christian  religion,  which  listens  not  with  an  earnest 
pleasure  to  the  voice  of  the  slave,  singing  the  songs  of 
Zion.  No  matter  how  kind  his  master,  or  how  great  and 
varied  his  comforts,  he  is  a  slave !  His  soul  cannot,  on 
earth,  be  animated  to  attain  aught  save  the  enjoyment  of 
the  passing  hour.  Why  need  he  recall  the  past  ?  The 
present  does  not  differ  from  it — toil,  toil,  however  miti- 
gated by  the  voice  of  kindness.  Need  he  essay  to  pene- 
trate the  future  ?  it  is  still  toil,  softened  though  it  be  'by 
the  consideration  which  is  universally  shown  to  the  feel- 
ings and  weaknesses  of  old  age.  Yet  has  the  Creator, 
who  placed  him  in  this  state,  mercifully  provided  for  it. 
The  slave  has  not  the  hopes  of  the  master,  but  he  is  with- 
out many  of  his  cares.  He  may  riot  strive  after  wealth, 
yet  he  is  always  provided  with  comfort,  Ambition,  with 
its  longings  for  fame,  and  riches,  and  power,  never  stimu- 
lates -his  breast;  that  breast  is  safe  from  its  disappoint- 
ments. His  enjoyments,  though  few,  equal  his  expecta- 
tions. His  occupations,  though  servile,  resemble  the  mass 
of  those  around  him.  His  eye  can  see  the  beauties  of 
nature ;  his  ear  drinks  in  her  harmonies ;  his  soul  con- 


124  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN  ;   OR, 

tent  itself  with  what  is  passing  in  the  limited  world 
around  him.  Yet,  he  is  a  slave  !  And  if  he  is  ever  elevated 
above  his  condition,  it  is.  when  praising  the  God  of  the 
white  man  and  the  black ;  when,  with  uplifted  voice,  he 
sings  the  songs  of  the  redeemed ;  when,  looking  forward 
to  the  invitation  which  he  hopes  to  receive,  "  Come  in, 
thou  servant  of  the  Lord." 

Christian  of  the  South,  remember  who  it  was  that  bore 
thy  Saviour's  cross,  when,  toiling,  and  weary,  and  faint- 
ing beneath  it,  he  trod  the  hill  of  Calvary.  Not  one  of 
the  rich,  learned,  or  great ;  not  one  of  thine  ancestors, 
though  thou  mayest  boast  of  their  wealth,  and  learning, 
and  heroic  acts — it  was  a  black  man  who  relieved  him  of 
his  heavy  burden  ;  Simon  of  Cyrene  was  his  name. 

Christian  of  the  North,  canst  thou  emancipate  the 
Southern  slave  ?  Canst  thou  change  his  employments,  and 
elevate  his  condition?  Impossible.  Beware  then,  lest 
thou  add  to  his  burden,  and  tighten  his  bonds,  and  de- 
prive him  of  the  simple  enjoyments  which  are  now  allowed 

him. 

#  *  *  *  *  * 

Esther,  seated  on  the  steps  of  a  small  porch  attached 
to  the  side  of  the  house,  was  mentally  treating  with  great 
contempt  the  amusements  of  the  other  servants.  She  had 
her  -mother's  disposition,  and  disliked  any  thing  like  noisy 
mirth,  having  an  idea  it  was  not  genteel;  seeing  so  little 
of  it  in  her  master's  family.  She  was  an  active,  cheerful 
girl,  but  free  from  any  thing  like  levity  in  her  manner. 

She  had  a  most  devoted  admirer  in  the  neighborhood ; 
no  less  a  personage  than  Mrs.  Kent's  coachman.  His 
name  was  Rober.t,  after  Mrs.  Kent's  father.  Assuming 
the  family  name,  he  was  known  as  Robert  Carter.  .  Phillis 
called  him  a  harmless  goose  of  a  fellow,  and  this  gives  the 
best  idea  of  his  character.  He  understood  all  about 
horses,  and  nothing  else,  if  we  except  the  passion  of  love, 
which  was  the  constant  subject  of  his  conversation.  He 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  125 


had  made  up  his  mind  to  court  Esther,  and  with  that  in 
view  he  dressed  himself  in  full  livery,  as  if  he  were  going 
to  take  his  mistress  an  airing.  He  asks  Mrs.  Kent's,  per- 
mission to  be  married,  though'  he  had  not  the  slightest 
reason  to  suppose  Esther  would  accept  him,  with  a  confi- 
dence and  self-exultation  that  man  in  general  is  apt  to  feel 
when  he  has  determined  to  bestow  himself  upon  some  fof- 
tunate  fair  one.  •  He  went  his  way,  passing  the  dancers 
without  any  notice,  and  going  straight  to  that  part  of  the 
house  where  he  supposed  he  should  find  Esther. 

Esther  received  him  With  politeness,  but  with  some  re- 
serve ;  not  having  a  chair  to  offer  him,  and  not  intending 
him  to  take  a  seat  on  the  steps  beside  her,  she  stood  up, 
and  leaned  agahist  the  porch. 

They  talked  a  little  of  the  weather,  and  the  health  of 
the  different  members  of  their  respective  families,  during 
which,  Robert  took  the  opportunity  to  say,  "  His  master, 
(Mr.  Kent)  had  a  bilious  attack,  and  He  wished  to  the 
Lord,  he'd  never  get  better  of  it.'"  Finally,  he  undid 
one  of  the  buttons  of  his  coat,  which  was  getting  too  small 
for  him,  and  drawing  a  long  breath,  proceeded  to  lay  him- 
self (figuratively)  at  Esther's  feet. 

He  did  not  come  to  the  point  at  once,  but  drove  round 
it,  as  if  there  might  be  some  impediment  in  the  way, 
which,  though  it  could  not  possibly  upset  the  whole  affair, 
might  make  a  little  unnecessary  delay.  Esther  thought 
he  was  only  talking  nonsense,  as  usual,  but  when  he  waxed 
warm  and  energetic  in  his  professionsy-she  interrupted  him 
with,  «  Look  here,  Robert,  you're  Out  of  your  head,  aint 
you?" 

"No  deed,  Miss  Esther,  but  I'm  dying  in  love  with 
you." 

"  The  best  thing  you  can  do,  is  to  take  yourself  home," 
said  Esther.  « I  hope  you're  sober." 

"I  was  never  soberer  in  my  life,"  said  Robert,  "  but  the 
fact  is,  Miss  Esther,  I'm  tired  of  a  bachelor's  life ;  'pears 

11* 


126  AUNT    PHILLIS^S   CABIN;    OR, 


as  if  it  wasn't  respectable,  and  so  I'm  thinking  of  settling 
down." 

"You  want  settling  down,  for  true,"  said  Esther. 

"I'm  mighty  happy  to  hear  you  say  so,"  said  Robert, 
"  and  if  you'll  only  mention  what  time  it  '11  be  agreeable  to 
you  to  make  me  the  happiest  man  in  Virginny,  I'le  speak  to 
Uncle  Watty  Harkins  about  performing  the  ceremony, 
without  you  prefer  a  white  minister  to  tie  the  knot." 

"Robert,"  said  Esther^  "you're  a  born  fool;  do  you 
mean  to  say  you  want  me  to  marry  you?" 

"  Certainly,  Esther;  I  shouldn't  pay  you  no  attentions, 
if  I  didn't  mean  to  act  .like  a  gentleman  by  you." 

"  Well,  I  can' tell  you,"  said  Esther,  "I  wouldn't  marry 
you,  to  save  your  life." 

"You  ain't  in  earnest,  'Esther  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  am, ' '  said  Esther,  "so  you  better  not  be  coming 
here  on  any  such  fool's  errand  again." 

"Why,  Esther,"  said  Robert,  reproachfully,  "after  my 
walking  home  from  meeting  with  you,  and  thinking  and 
dreaming  about  you,  as  I  have  for  this  long  time,  aint 
you  going  to  marry  me  ?" 

"No,  I  aint,"  said  Esther. 

"  Then  I'll  bid  you  good  night;  and  look  here,  Esther, 
to-morrow,  mistress  will  lose  one  of  her  most  valuable  ser- 
vants, for  I  shall  hang  myself." 

Esther  went  up  the  steps,  and  shut  the  door  -on  him,  in- 
ternally marvelling  at  the  impudence  of  men  in  general ; 
Robert,  with  a  strong  inclination  to  shed  tears,  turned  his 
steps  homeward."  He  told  Mrs.  Kent,  the  next  morning, 
that  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  not  to  be  married  for 
some  time  yet,  women  were  so  troublesome,  and  there  was 
no  knowing  how  things  would  turn  out.  Mrs.  Kent  saw 
he  was  much  dejected,  and  concluded  there  were  sour 
grapes  in  the  question. 

After  due  consideration,  Robert  determined  not  to  com- 
mit suicide;  he  did  something  equally  desperate.  He 


SOUTHERN   LITE   AS    IT   IS.  127 


married  Mrs.  Kent's  nmid,  an  ugly,  thick-lipped  girl,  who 
had  hitherto  been  his  especial  aversion.  lie.  could  not 
though,  entirely  erase  Esther's  image  from  his  heart — al- 
ways feeling  a  tendency  to  choke,  when  he  heard  her 
voice  in  meeting. 

Esther  told  her. mother  of  the  offer  she  had  had,  and 
Phillis  quite  agreed  with  her,  in  thinking  Robert  was  crazy. 
She  charged  "Esther  to  know  when  she -was  well  off,  and 
not  to  bring  trouble  upon  herself  by  getting  married,  or 
any  such  foolishness  as  that." 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"I  TELL  you  wha>t,  Abel,"  said  Arthur  Wesson,  "the 
more  I  think  about  you  Northern  people,  the  harder  it  is 
for  me  to  come  to  a  conclusion  as  to  what  you^  are  made 
of." 

"  Can't  you  experiment  upon  us,  Arthur ;  test  us  chemi- 
cally ?" 

"Don't  believe  you  could  be  tested,"  said  Arthur,  "you 
are  such  a  slippery  set.  Now  here  is  a  book  I  have  been 
looking  over,  called  Annals  of  Salem,  T^y  Joseph  B.  Felt, 
published  in  1827.  On  the  109th  page  it  says  :  « Captain 
Pierce,  of  the  ship  Desire,  belonging  to  this  port,  w^s  com- 
missioned to  transport  fifteen  boys  and  one  hundred  women, 
of  the  captive  Pequods,  to  Bermuda,  and  sell  them  as  slaves. 
He  was  obliged,  however,  to  make  for  Providence  Island. 
There  he  disposed  of  the  Indians.  He  returned  from  Tor- 
tugas  the  26th  of  February  following',  with  a  cargo  of  cotton, 
tobacco,  salt,  and  negroes.'  In  the  edition  of  1849,  this 
interesting  fact  is  omitted.  Now,  was  not  that  trading  in 
human  bodies  and  souls  in  earnest  ?  First  they  got  all 
they  could  for  those  poor  captive  Pequods,  and  they 


128  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN  ;    OR, 


traded  the  amount  again  for  negroes,  and  some  et  ceteras. 
You  are  the  very  people  to  make  a  fuss  about  your  neigh- 
bours, having  been  so  excessively  righteous  yourselves. 
No  wonder  that  the  author  left  it  out  in  a  succeeding 
edition.  I  am  surprised  he  ever  put  it  in  at  all." 

"  It  seems  more  like  peddling  with  the  poor  devils  than 
any  thing  else,"  said  Abel.  "But  you  must  remember 
the  spirit  of  the  age,  Arthur,  as  Mr.  Hubbard  ^calls  it  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Arthur,  "I  forgot  that;  but  I , wonder  if 
Mr.  Hubbard  excuses  the  conduct  of  England  to  her  colo- 
nies in  consideration  of  the  spirit  of  the  age^—that  allowed 
taxation  and  all  of  her  other  forms  of  oppression,  I  suppose. 
It  is  a  kind  of  charity  that  covers  a  multitude  of  sins.  But 
I  was  saying,"  continued  Arthur,  "that  I  cauld  not  make 
you  out.  While  they  w^re  carrying  on  two  kinds  of  slave 
trade,  they  were  discussing  in  Boston  the  propriety  of 
women's  wearing  veils,  having  lectures  about  it.  Let  me 
read  to  you.  <  Mr.  Cotton,  though  while  in  England  of  an 
opposite  opinion  on  this  subject,  maintained  that  in  countries 
where  veils  w^ere  to  be  a  §ign  of  submission,  they  might  be 
properly  disused.  But  Mr.  Endicott  took  different  ground, 
and  endeavored  to  retain  it  by  general  argument  from  St. 
Paul.  Mr.  Williams  sided  with  his  parishioner.  Through 
his  and  others'  influence,  veils  were  worn  abundantly. 
At  the  time  they  were  the  most  fashionable,  Mr.  Cotton 
came  to  preach  for  Mr.  Skelton.  His  subject  was  upon 
wearing  veils.  He  endeavored  to  prove  that  this  was 
a  custom  not  to  be  tolerated.  The  consequence  was, 
that  the  ladies  became  converts  to  his  faith  in  this  par- 
ticular, and  for  a  long  time  left  off  an  article  of  dress, 
which  indicated  too  great  a  degree  of  submission  to  the 
lords  of  creation.'  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  a  set  of 
old  meddlers,  lecturing  and  preaching  about  women's 
dressing.  I  suppose  the  men  wore  petticoats  at  that  time 
themselves." 

"If  they  did,"  said  Abel,  "I  am  very  glad  they  have 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT  IS.  129 


turned  them  over  to  the  other  sex  since,  as  they  are  worn 
in  the  number  which  the  present  fashion  requires.  I 
should  think  they  would  be-  very  uncomfortable.  But, 
Arthur,  I  heard  such  a  good  story  the  other  day,  about 
Lawyer*  Page.  He  fights  bravely  with  his  tongue  for 
other  people's  rights,  but  he  daren't  say  his  soul's  his  own 
before  his  wife.  Well,  when  that  affair  came  out  about 
Morton's  whipping  his  wife,  as  he  was  going  to  the  Court- 
house, Page  said  to  old  Captain  Caldwell,  <Do  you  know, 
captain,  that  before  all  f  the  facts  were  out  in  this  case 
about  Morton,  they  actually  had  it  in  every  direction  that 
it  was  I  who  had  whipped  my  wife.'  <•  Now  Page,'  said  the 
old  captain,  <  you  know  that's  no  such  thing  ;  for  every  body 
in  New  Haven  is  well  aware  that  when  there  was  any 
flogging  going  on  in  the  matrimonial  line,  in  your  house, 
it  was  you  that  came  off  the  worst.'  Page  did  not  say  a 
word." 

"I  am  glad  I  am  not  yoked  with  one  of  your  New 
Haven  belles,  if  turning  a  Jerry  Sneak  is  to  be  the  con- 
sequence," said  Arthur. 

"  This  marrying  is  a  terrible  necessity,  Arthur,"  said 
Abel.  "I  don't  know  how  I'll  be  supported  under  it  when 
my  time  comes;  but  after  all,  I  think  the  women  get  the 
worst  of  it.  There  were  not  twa  prettier  girls  in  New 
Haven  than  my  sisters.  Julia,  who  has  been  married 
some  eight  or  nine  years,  was  really  beautiful,  and  so  ani- 
mated and  cheerful ;  now  she  has  that  wife-like  look  of 
care,  forever  on  her  countenance.  Her  husband  is  always 
reproaching^  her  tnat  that  little  dare  devil  of  a  son  of 
hers  does  not  keep  his  clothes  clean.  The  other  evening 
I  was  at  their  house,  and  they  were  having  a  little 
matrimonial  discussion  about  it.  It  seems  little  Charlie 
had  been  picked  up  out  of  the  mud  in  the  afternoon,  and 
brought  in  in  such  a  condition,  that  it  was  sometime  before 
he  could  be  identified.  After  being  immersed  in  a  bathing 
tub  it  was  ascertained  that  he  had  not  a  clean  suit  of 


130  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OE, 


clothes ;  so  the  young  gentleman  was  confined  to  his 
chamber  for  the  rest  of  the  evening,  in  a  night  gown. 
This  my  brother-in-law  considered  a  great  hardship,  and 
they  were  talking  the  matter  over  when  I  went  in. 

"  'Why  don't  you  make  the  boy  clothes  enough,  Julia?' 
said  he. 

"  <  I  am  forever  making  and  forever  mending,'  said  Julia ; 
<•  but  it  is  impossible  to  keep  that  young  one  clean.  He 
had  twelve  pairs  of  pantaloons  in  the  wash  last  week,  and 
the  girl  was  sick,  and  I  had  to  iron  them  myself.  I  guess 
if  you  had  all  the  trouble  I  have  with  him,  you  would  put 
liim  to  bed  and  make  him  stay  there  a  week.' 

« 'I  tell  you  what  it  is,  good  people,'  said  I,  'when  I  go 
courting  I  intend  to  ask  the  lady  in  the  first  place  if  she 
-likes  to  make  boys'  clothes.  If  she  says  No,  I  shan't 
have  her,  no  matter  what  other  recommendations  she  may 


" « She'll  be  sure  to  give  you  the  mitten  for  your  impu- 
dence^ said  Julia.  Then,  there  is  my  pretty  sister  Har- 
riet, quilting  quilts,  trimminvg  nightcaps,  and  spoiling  her 
bright  eyes  making  her  wedding-clothes;  after  a  while 
she'll  be  undergoing  some  of  the  troubles  of  the  married 
state,  which  will  lengthen  her  face.  The  men  get  the  best 
of  it,  decidedly;  for  they  have  not  all  the  petty  annoyances 
a  woman  must  encounter.  What  do  you  think  about  it, 
Arthur?" 

"I  hardly  know,"  said  Arthur.  "I  have  been  in  love 
ever  since  I  could  tell  my  right  -hand  from  my  left.  I  have 
hardly  ever  looked  forward  to  marriage ;  my  time  has  been 
so  much  occupied  here,  that  when  I  get  a  few  moments  for 
reflection,  my  thoughts  go  back  to  Alice,  and  the  happy 
years  I  have  passed  with  her,  rather  than  to  anticipations  of 
any  kind.  I  suppose  I  shall  find  out,  though,  and  then 
you  may  profit  by  my  experience." 

"You  will  have  a  sad  experience  with  those  niggers  of 
yours,  I  am  afraid,  Arthur,"  said  Abel.  "Our  people  are 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  131 


determined  never  to  let  them  alone.  I  wonder  you  do  not 
employ  white  hands  upon  the  plantation,  and  have  done 
with  any  trouble  about  the  matter." 

"  What  would  be  done  with  the  slaves  in  the  mean  time  ?" 
said  Arthur; 

"  Set  'em  free,"  said  Abel ;   "  colonize,  or  hang  'em  all." 

"The  latter  is  the  more  practicable  suggestion,"  said 
Arthur,  "As  to  setting  them  free,  they  could  not  remain 
in  Virginia  afterward  if  I  were  willing  to  do  so :  4here  is 
a  law  against  it.  Colonizing  them  would  be  equally  diffi- 
cult, for  the  most  of  them  would  refuse  to  go  to  Africa ; 
and  if  I  have  not  the  right  to  hold  them  slaves,  I  certainly 
have  not  a  right  to  force  them  into  another  country.  Some 
of  them  would  be  willing  and  glad"  to  come  to  the  North, 
but  some  would  object.  My  father  set  a  house-servant 
free ;  he  was  absent  a  year,  and  returned  voluntarily  to 
his. old  condition.  Mark  had  got  some  Abolition  notions 
in  his  head,  and  my  father  told  him  he  might  have  his  free 
papers,  and  go :  I  have  told  you  the  result.  The  fact  is, 
Abel,  you  Yankees  don't  stand  ,very  well  with  our  slaves. 
They  seem  to  consider  you  a  race  of  pedlars,  who  come 
down  upon  them  in  small  bodies  for  their  sins,  to  wheedle 
away  all  their  little  hoardings.  My  father  has  several 
times  brought  servants  to  New  York,  but  they  have  never 
run  away  from  him.  .1  think  Virginia  would  do  well  with- 
out her  colored  people,  because  her  climate  is  moderate, 
and  white  labor  could  be  substituted.  But  it  is  not  so 
with  the  more  Southern  States.  I  would  like  to  see  a 
Louisiana  sun  shining  upon  your  New  England  States  for 
a  while— how  quickly  you  would  fit  out  an  expedition  for 
Africa.  It  is  the  mere  accident  of  climate  that  makes 
your  States  free  ones." 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Abel.  "A  great  many  of  your 
slaves  run  away  through  the  year,  don't  they?" 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Arthur ;  "  comparatively,  very  few. 
Just  before  I  came  to  New  Haven,  I  went  to  pass  a  few 


132  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


weeks  at  a  plantation  belonging  to  a  family  with  whom  we 
were  intimate.  One  of  the  sons  and  I  went  on  the  river, 
two  of  the  servants  rowing  us.  1  said  to  one  of  them,  a 
large  fat  negro,  < What's  your  name,  uncle?'  <Meschach, 
sir,'  he  said.  <  Meschach,'  said  I;  < why,  you  ought  to  have 
two  brothers,  one  named  Shadrach  and  the  other  Abed- 
nego.'  <  So  I  had,  sir.'  <  Well,  what  has  become  of  them?' 
said  I.  <  Shadrach,  he's  dead,'  he  answered.  <  And  where 
is  Abednego  ?'  said  I.  <  He's  gone,  too,'  he  replied,  in  a 
low  voice.  My  friend  gave  me  a  look,  and  told  me  after- 
wards that  Abednego  had  ran  away,  and  that  his  family 
considered  it  a  disgrace,  and  never  spoke  of  him.  I  heard 
of  a  negro  boy  who,  absconded,  and  when  he  was  found, 
and  being  brought  home,  an  old  washerwoman  watched 
him  as  he  went  up  the  street.  <La,'  said  she,  <  who'd  a 
thought  he'd  a  beginned  to  act  bad  so  young/  But  let  us 
leave  off  Abolition  and  take  a  walk.  Our  cigars  are  out, 
and  we  will  resume  the  subject  to-morrow  afternoon,  when 

we  light  some  more." 

****** 

"Now,"  said  Abel,  "having  a  couple  of  particularly  good 
cigars,  where  did  we  leave  off?" 

"Its  too  warm  for  argument,"  said  Arthur,  watching 
the  curling  of  the  gray  smoke  as  it  ascended. 

"We  need  not  argue,"  said  Abel;  "I  want  to  catechize 
you." 

"Begin." 

«  Do  you  think  that  the  African  slave-trade  can  be  de- 
fended?" 

"No,  assuredly  not." 

"Well,"  said  Abel,  "how  can  you  defend  your  right  to 
hold  slaves  as  property  in  the  United  States?" 

"Abel,"  said  Arthur,  "when  a  Yankee  begins  to  ques- 
tion there  is  no  reason  to  suppose  he  ever  intends  to  stop. 
I  shall -answer  your  queries  from  the  views  of  Governor 
Hammond,  of  Carolina.  They  are  at  least  worthy  of  con- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT'  IS.  133 


sideration.  What  right  have  you  New  England  people  to 
the  farms  you  are  now  holding?" 

"  The  right  of  owning  them,"  said  Abel. 

"  From  whom  did  you  get  them  ?"  asked  Arthur. 

"Our  fathers." 

"And  how  did  they  get  them?" 

"From  the  Red  men,  their  original  owners." 

"Well,"  said  Arthur,  "we  all  know  how  these  transac- 
tions were  conducted  all  over  the  country.  We  wanted 
the  lands  of  the  Red  men,  and  we  took  them.  Sometimes 
they  were  purchased,  sometimes  they  were  wrested ;  always, 
the  Red  men  were  treated  with  injustice.  They  were  driven 
off,  slaughtered,  and  taken  as  slaves.  Now,  God  as  clesarly 
gave  these  lands  to  the  Red  men  as  he  gave  life  and  free- 
dom to  the  African.  Both  have  been  unjustly  taken  away." 

"But,"  said  Abel,  "we  hold  property  in  land,  you  in 
the  bodies  and  souls  of  men." 

"  Grranted,"  said  Arthur ;  "  but  we  have  as  good  a  right 
to  our  property  as  you  to  yours — we  each  inherit  rt  from  our 
fathers.  You  must  know  that  slaves  were  recognized  as 
property  under  the  constitution.  John  Q.  Adams,  speak- 
ing of  the  protection  extended  to  the  peculiar  interests  of 
the  South,  makes  these  remarks:  « Protected  by  the  ad- 
vantage of  representation  on  this  floor,  protected  by  the 
stipulation  in  the  constitution  for  the  recovery  of  fugitive 
slaves,  protected  by  the  guarantee  in  the  constitution  to 
*  the  owners  of  this  species  of  property,  against  domestic 
violence.'  It  was  considered  in  England  as  any  other  kind 
of  commerce;  so  that  you  cannot  deny  our 'right  to  con- 
sider them  as  property  now,  as  well  as  then." 

"But  can  you  advocate  the  enslaving  of  your  fellow 
man?"  said  Abel." 

"No,"  said  Arthur,  "if  you  put  the  question  in  that 
manner ;  but  if  you  come  to  the  point,  and  ask  me  if  I  can 
conscientiously  hold  in  bondage  slaves  in  the  South,  I  say 
yes,  without  the  slightest  hesitation..  .  I'll  tell  you  why. 

12 


134  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

You  must  agree  with  me,  if  the  Bible  allow  slavery  there 
is  no  sin  it.  Now,  the  Bible  does  allow  it.  You  must 
read  those  letters  of  Governor  Hammond  to  Clarkson,  the 
English  Abolitionist.  The  tenth  commandment,  your 
mother  taught  you,  no  doubt :  c  thou  shalt  not  covet  thy 
neighbor's  house,  thou  shalt  not  cavet  thy  neighbor's  wife, 
nor  his  man-servant,  nor  his.  maid-servant,  nor  his  ox,  nor 
his  ass,  nor  any  thing  that  is  thy  neighbor's.'  These  are  the 
words  of  God,  and  as  such,  should  be  obeyed  strictly.  In 
the  most  solemn  manner,  the  man-servant  and  the  maid- 
servant are  considered  the  property  of  thy  neighbor. 
Generally  the  word  is  rendered  slave.  This  command  in- 
cludes all  classes  of  servants  ;  there  is  the  Hebrew-brother, 
who  shall  go  out  in  the  seventh  year,  and  the  hired-servant, 
and  those  'purchased  from  the  heathen  round  about,'  who 
were  to  be  bondmen  forever.  In  Leviticus,  speaking  of 
the  'bondmen  of  the  heathen  which  shall  be  round  about,' 
God  says,  'And  ye  shall  take  them  for  an  inheritance,  for 
your  children  after  you,  to  inherit  them  for  a  possession ; 
they  shall  be  your  bondmen  forever.'  I  consider  that  God 
permitted  slavery  when  he  made  laws  for  the  master  and 
the  slave,  therefore  I  am  justified  in  holding  slaves.  In  the 
times  of  our  Saviour,  when  slavery  existed  in  its  worst 
form,  it  was  regarded  as  one  of  the  conditions  of  human 
society;  it  is  evident  Abolition  was  not  shadowed  forth  by 
Christ  or  his  apostles.  'Do  unto  all  men  as  ye  would 
have  them  do  unto  you,'  is  a  general  command,  inducing 
charity  and  kindness  among  all  classes  of  men ;  and  does 
not  authorize  interference  with  the  established  customs  of 
society.  If,  according  to  this  precept  of  Christ,  I  am 
obliged  to  manumit  my  slaves,  you  are  equally  forced  to 
purchase  them.  If  I  were  ti  slave,  I  would  have  my  master 
free  me ;  if  you  were  a  slave,  and  your  owner  would  not 
give  you  freedom,  you  would  have  some  rich  man  to  buy 
you.  From  the  early  ages  of  the  world,  there  existed  the 
poor  and  the  rich,  the  master  and  the  slave. 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  135 

"It  would  be  far  "better  for  the  Southern  slaves,  if  our 
institution,  as  regards  them,  were  left  to  <  gradual  "mitiga- 
tion and  decay,  which  time  may  bring  about.  The  course 
of  the  Abolitionists,  while  it  does  nothing  to  destroy  this 
institution,  greatly  adds  to  its  hardships.'  Tell  me  that 
4  man-stealing'  is  a  sin,  and  I  will  agree  with  you,  and  will 
insist  that  the  Abolitionists  are  guilty  of  it.  In  my  opin- 
ion, those  who  consider  slavery  a  sin,  challenge  tne  truth 
of  the  Bible. 

"Besides,  Abel,"  continued  Arthur,  "what  right  have 
you  to  interfere  ?  Your  Northern  States  abolished  slavery 
when  it  was  their  interest  to  do  so :  let  us  do  the  same. 
In  the  meantime,  consider  the  condition  of  these  dirty 
vagabonds,  these  free  .blacks,  who  are  begging  from  me 
every  time'  I  go  into  the  street.  I  met  one  the  other  day, 
who  had  a  most  lamentable  state  of  things  to  report.  He 
had  rheumatism,  and  a  cough,  and  he  spit  blood,  and  he  had 
no  tobacco,  and  he  was  hungry,  and  he  had  the  toothache. 
I  gaVe  him  twenty-five  cents  as  a  sort  of  panacea,  and  ad- 
vised him  to  travel  South  and  get  a  good  master.  He 
took  the  money,  but  not  the  advice." 

"But,  Arthur,  the  danger  of  insurrection;  I  should 
think  it  would  interfere  greatly  with  your  comfort." 

"We  do  not  fear  it,"  said  Arthur.  "Mobs  of  any  kind 
are  rare  in  the  Southern  country.  We  are  not  (in  spite  of 
the  bad  qualities  ascribed  to  us  by  the  Abolitionists)  a 
fussy  people.  J^ometimes,  when  an  Abolitionist  comes 
along,  we  have  a  little  fun  with  him,  the  negroes  enjoying 
it  exceedingly.  •  Slaveholders,  a/s  a  general  thing,  desire 
to  live  a  peaceful,  quiet  life ;  yet  they  are  not  willing  to 
have  their  rights  wrested  from  them." 

"One  great  disadvantage  in  a  slaveholding  community 
is,  that  you  are  apt  to  be  surrrounded  by  uneducated  peo- 
ple," said  Abel. 

"  We  do  not  educate  our  slaves,"  said  Arthur ;  "  but  you 
do  not  presume  to  say  that  we  do  not  cultivate  our  minds 


136  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


as  assiduously  as  you  do  yours.  Our  statesmen  .are  not 
inferior  to  yours  in  natural  ability,  nor  in  the  improvement 
of  it.  We  have  far  more  time  to  improve  ourselves  than 
you,  as  a  general  thing-  When  you  have  an  opportunity 
of  judging,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  say,  that  our  women 
can  bear  to  be  compared  with  yours  in  every  respect,  in 
their  intellect,  and  refinement  of  manners  and  conversation. 
Our  slaves  are  not  left  ignorant,  like  brutes,  as  has  been 
charged  upon  us.  Where  a  master  feels  a  religious  responsi- 
bility, he  must  and  does  cause  to  be  given,  all  necessary 
knowledge  to  those  who  are  dependent  upon  him.-  I  must 
say,  that  though  we  have  fewer  sects  at  the  South,  we  have 
more  genuine  religion.  You  will  think  I  am  prejudiced. 
Joining  the  church  here  is,  in -a. great  measure,  a  form.  I 
have  formed  this  opinion  from  my  own  observation.  With 
us  there  must  be  a  proper  disregard  of  the  customs  of  the 
world ;  a  profession  of  religion  implying  a  good  deal  more 
than  a  mere  profession.  Look  at  the  thousand,  new  a'nd 
absurd  opinions  that  have  agitated  New  England,  while 
they  never  have  been  advanced  with  us.  There  is  Unita- 
rianism,  that  faith  that  would  undermine  the  perfect  struc- 
ture of  the  Christian  religion ;.  that  says  Christ  is  -a  man, 
when  the  Scriptures  style  him  <•  Wonderful,  Counsellor, 
The  Mighty  God,  The  Everlasting  Father,  The  Prince  of 
Peace.'  Why,  it  is  hardly  tolerated  at  the  South.  Have 
you  any  right  to  claim  for  yourself  superior  holiness? 
None  whatever.  '  • 

"  There  never  was  any  thing  so  perfectly  false  (I  cannot 
help  referring  to  it  again,)  as  that  religion  is  discouraged 
among  our  slaves.  It  is  precisely  the  contrary.  Most  of 
them  have  the  same  opportunities  of  attending  worship  as 
their  owners.  They  generally  prefer  the  Methodist  and 
Baptist  denominations ;  they  worship  with  the  whites,  or 
they  have  exclusive  occasions  for  themselves,  which  they 
prefer.  They  meet  on  the  plantations  for  prayer,  for 
singing,  or  for  any  religious  purpose,  when  they  choose ;  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  137 


ladies  on  the  plantations  instruct  them  in  the  Bible,  and 
how  to  read  it.     Many  of  them  are  taught  to  write. 

Religion  seems  to  be  a  necessary  qualification  of  the  fe- 
male mind — I  think  this,  because  I  have  been  so  fortunate 
in  those  of  our  own  family.  My  mother  died  soon  after 
my  birth ;  her  friends  often  dwell  on  the  early  piety  so 
beautfully  developed  in  her  character".  We  have  a  rela- 
tive, an  old  maid,  who  lives  with  us ;  she  forgets  her  own 
existence,  laboring  always  for  the  good  of  others.  My 
aunt  is  a  noble  Christian  woman,  and  Alice  has  not 
breathed  such  ail  atmosphere  in  vain.  We  have  a  servant 
woman  named  Phillis,  her  price  is'  far  above  rubies.  Her 
industry,  her  honesty,  her  attachment  to  our  family,  ex- 
ceeds every  thing.  I  wish  Abolitionists  would  imitate  one 
of  her  virtues — humility.  I  know  of  no  poetry  more 
beautiful  than  the  hymns  she  sang  to  me  in  my  infancy; 
her  whole  life  has  been  a  recommendation  of  the  religion 
of  the  Bible.  I  wish  my  chance  of  Heaven  were  half  as 
good  as  hers.  She  is  a  slave  here,  but  she  is  destined  to 
be  a  saint  hereafter." 


138  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OR, 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  evening  is  drawing  on  again  at  Exeter, 'and  Alice 
and  her  mother  are  in  a  little  sitting  room  that  opens  on- 
the  porch.  Mrs.  Weston  is  fanning  her  daughter,  who  has 
been  suffering  during  the  day  from  headache.  „  Miss  Janet 
is  there,  too,  and  for  a  rare  occurrence,  is  idle ;  looking 
from  the  window  at  the  tall  peaks  of  the  Blue  Ridge  upon 
which  she  has  gazed  for  many  a  year.  Little  Lydia  stands 
by  her  side,  her  round  eyes  peering  into  Miss  Janet's  face, 
wondering  what  would  happen,  that  she  should  be  unem- 
ployed. They  are  awaiting  Mr.  Weston's  return  from  an 
afternoon  ride,  to  meet  at  the  last  and  most  sociable  meal 
of  the  day. 

"Miss  Janet,"  said  Lydia,  "  aint  Miss  Alice  white?" 

"Very  pale,"  said  Miss  Janet,  looking  at  Alice;  then, 
with  a  sigh,  turning  to  the  mountains  again. 

"What  makes  her  so  white  ?"  asked  Lydia,  in  an  under 
tone. 

"  She  has  had  a  headache  all  day.  Be  quiet,  child," 
said  Miss  Janet. 

After  a  moment,  Lydia  said,  "  I  wish  I  could  have  de 
headache  all  de  time." 

"What  do  you  say  such  a  foolish  thing  as  that  for, 
Lydia?" 

"  'Kase  I'd  like  to  be  white,  like  Miss  Alice."  Miss 
Janet  did  not  reply.  Again  Lydia  spoke,  "  If  I  was  to 
stay  all  time  in  de  house,  and  never  go  in  de  sun,  would  I 
git  white  ?" 

"  No — no — foolish  child ;  what  gives  you  such  ideas  ?" 

There  was  another  pause.  Mrs.  Weston  fanned  Alice, 
who,  with  closed  eyes,  laid  languidly  on  the  lounge. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  139 


"Miss  Janet,"  said  Lydia,  speaking  very  softly,  "who 
made  de  lightning-bugs?"  ,  . 

"  God  made  them,"  said  Miss  Janet. 

"Did  God  make  de  nanny-goats,  too?" 

"You  know  that  God  made  every  thing,"  said  Miss 
Janet.  "  I  have  often  told  you  so." 

"He-  didn't  make  mammy's,  house,  ma'am;  I  seed  de 
men  makin  it." 

"  No  ;  man  makes  houses,  but  -God  made  all  the  beauti- 
ful things  in  nature.  He  made  man,  and  trees,  and  rivers, 
and  such  things  as  man  could  not  make." 

Lydia  looked  up  at  the  sky.  The  sun  had  set,  and  the 
moon  was  coming  forth,  a  few  stars  glistened  there.  Long, 
fleecy  elouds  extended  over  the  arch  of  heaven,  and  some 
passing  ones  for  a  moment  obscured  the  brightness  that 
gilded  the  beautiful  scene. 

"Miss  Janet,"  said  Lydia,  "its  mighty  pretty  there; 
but  'spose  it  was  to  fall;" 

"What  was  to  fall?" 

."  De  sky,  ma'am-. " 

"It  cannot  fall.     ,God  holds  it  in  its  place." 

Another  interval  and  Lydia  said :  "  Miss  Janet,  'spose 
God  was  to  die,  den  de  sky  would  broke  down." 

"What  put  such  a  dreadful  thought  into  your  head, 
child?"  said  Miss  Janet.  God  cannot  die." 

"Yes,  ma'am,  he  kin,"  said  Lydia. 

"  No,  he  cannot.  Have  I  not  often  told  you  that  God 
is  a  spirit  ?  He  created  all  things,  but  he  never  was  made ; 
he  cannot  die." 

Lydia  said  inquiringly,  "  Wasn't  Jesus  Christ  God, 
ma'am?" 

"Yes,  he  was  the  Son  of  God,  and  he  was  God." 

"  Well,  ma'am,  he  died  onct,  dat  time  de  Jews  crucified 
him— dat  time  de  ground  shook,  and  de  dead  people  got 
up — dat  time  he  was  nailed  to  de  cross.  So,  ma'am,  if 
God  died  onct,  couldn't  he  die  agin?" 


140  AUNT  piiiLLis's  CABIN;  OR, 


Miss  Janet,  arousing  herself  from  her  reverie,  looked 

at  the  child.    There  she  stood,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  the  sky, 

her  soul  engaged  in  solving  this  mysterious  question.  Her 

>  little  hands  hung  listlessly  by  her  side;   there  was  no 

(  beauty  in  her  face  ;  the  black  skin,  the  projecting  lips,  the 

I  heavy  features,  designated  her  as  belonging  to  a  degraded 

•\  race.     Yet  the  sotf!  was  looking  forth  from  its  despised  te- 

(  nement,  and  eagerly  essaying  to  grasp  things  beyond  its 

reach. 

"Could  he  die  agin,  Miss  Janet?'.'  asked  Lydia. 
Poor  child !  thought  Miss  Janet,  how  the  soul  pinioned  and 
borne  down,  longs  to  burst  its  chains,  and  to  soar  through 
the  glorious  realms  of  light  and  knowledge.  I  thought 
but  now  that  there  was  no  more  for  me  to  do  here  ;  that 
tired  of  the  rugged  ascent,  I  stood  as  it  were  on  the  tops 
of  those  mountains,  gazing  in  spirit  on  the  celestial  city, 
and  still  not  called  to  enter  in.  Now,  I  see  there  is  work 
for  me  to  do.  Thou  art  a  slave,  Lydia  ;  yet  God  has 
called  tljee  to  the  freedom  of  the  children  that  he  loves ; 
thou  art  black,  yet  will  thy  soul  be  washed  white  in  the 
blood  of  the  Lamb  ;  thou  art  poor,  yet  shalt  thou  be  made 
rich  through  Him  who,  w:hen  on  earth,  was  poor  indeed. 
Jesus,  forgive  me  !  I  murmured  that  I  still  was  obliged  to 
linger.  Oh  !  make  me  the  honored  instrument  of  good  to 
this  child,  and  when  thou  callest  me  hence,  how  gladly  will 
I  obey  the  summons. 

"Lydia,"  she-said,  "the  Son  of  God  died  for  us  all,  for 
you  and  for  me,  but  he  was  then  in  the  form  of  man.  He 
died  tliat  we  might  live ;  he  never  will  die  again.  He  rose 
from  the  dead,  and  is  in  heaven,  at  the  right  hand  of  God. 
He 'loves  you,  because  you  think  about  him." 

"He  don't  love  me  like  he  do  Miss  Alice-,  'kase  she's  so 
white,"  said  Lydia. 

"  He  loves  all  who  love  him,"  said  Miss  Janet,  "whether 
they  are  black  or  white.  Be  a  good  child,  and  he  will 
surely  love  you.  Be  kind  and  obliging  to  everybody ;  be 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  141 


industrious  and  diligent  in  all  you  have  ta  do  ;  obey  your 
mother  and  father,  and  your  master.  Be  truthful  and  ho- 
nest. God  hates  a  liar,  and  a  deceitful  person.  He  will 
not  take  care  of  you  and  love  you,  unless  you  speak  the 
truth.  Sometimes  you  try  to  deceive  me.  God  will  not 
be  .your  friend  if  you  deceive  any  one.  And  now  go  to 
your  mother,  she  *  will  put  you  to  bed." 

Lydra  made  a  curtsey,  and  said,  "  Good-night,  ma'am." 
She  went  to  Mrs.  Weston,  and  bade  ner  good-night  too. 
Then  turning  toward  Alice,  she  gazed  wonderingly  at  her 
pale  face. 

"Is  you  got  de  headache  now,  Miss  Alice?' 

«  Not  -much,"  said  Alice,  gently. 

"  Good  night,  miss,"  said  Lydia>  with  another  curtesy, 
and  she  softly  left  the  room.  «  Oh,  mammy,"  she  said, 
as  she  entered  her.  mother *s  cabin,  "  Miss  Janet  say,  if  I'm 
a  good  child,  God  will  love  me  much  as  he  loves  Miss 
Alice,  if  I  is  black.  Miss  Alice  is  so  white  to-night;  you 

never  see'd  her  looFas  white  as  she  do  to-night." 
#  #  *  #  *  * 

Mr.  Weston  alighted  from  his  horse,  and  hurried  to  the 
sitting-room,  "  Have  you  waited  tea  for  me?"  he  said. 
"Why  did  you  do  so?  Alice,  darling,  is  your  head 
better?" 

"A  great  deal,  uncle,"  said.  Alice.  "  Hav«  you  had  a 
pleasant  ride  ?" 

"Yes;  but  my  child,  you  look  very  sick.  What  can  be 
the  matter  with  you  ?  Anna,  did  you  send  for  the  doctor  T ' 

"No — Alice  objected  so." 

"  But  you  must  send  for  him— I  am  sure  she  is  seri- 
ously ill." 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me,  but  a  headache," 
said  Alice.  "  After  tea,  I  will  go  to  bed,  and  will  be  well 
in  the  morning." 

"  God  grant  you  may,  my  sweet  one.  What  has  come 
over  you?" 


142  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

"  Tea  is  ready,"  said  Cousin  Janet.  "  Let  us  go  in  to  it, 
and  then  have  prayers,  and  all  go  to  bed  early.  •  Why 
Cousin  Weston,  you  are  getting  quite  dissipated  in  your 
old  age ;  coming  home  to  tea  at  this  hour ;  I  suppose  I 
shall  begin  such  practices  next." 

Miss  Janet's  suggestion  of  retiring  early,  was  followed. 
Phillis  came  in  to  see  how  Alice's  head  was,  and  recom- 
mended brown  paper  and  vinegar.  Sjie  made  no  comment 
on  her  'appearance,  but  did  not  wonder  that  Lydia  was 
struck  with  the  expression  -of  her  countenance.  There 
was  an  uneasiness  that  was  foreign  to  it ;  not  merely  had 
the  glow  of  health  departed,  there  was  something  in  its 
place,  strange  there.  It  'was  like  the  storm  passing  over 
the  beautiful  lake ;  the  outline  of  rock,  and  tree,  arid  sur- 
face, is  to  be  seen,  but  its  tranquil' beauty  is  gone;  and. 
darkness  and  gloom  are  resting  wliere  has  been  the  home 
of  light,  and  love,  and  beauty. 

Alice  undressed  and  went  to  bed ;  her  mother  raised  all 
the  windows,  put  out  the  candle,  and  laid  down  beside  her. 
Hoping  that  she  would  fall  asleep,  she  did  not  converse, 
but  Alice  after  a  few  minutes,  called  her. 

"What  is  it,  Alice?" 

"Did  you  hear  what  Cousin  Janet  said  to- Lydia,  to- 
night, mother?  God  hates  those  who  deceive." 

"  Why  think  of  that  now,  my  love  ?" 

"  Because  it  refers  to  me.  She  did  not  mean  it  for  me, 
but  it  came  home  to  my  heart." 

"  To  your  heart  ?  That  has  always  been  truth  and 
candor  itself.  Try  and  banish  such  thoughts.  If  you 
were  well,  fancies  like  these  would  not  affect  you." 

"They  are  not  fancies,  they  are  realities,"  said  Alice. 
She  sighed  and  continued,  "Am  I  not  deceiving  the  kind 
protector  and  friend  of  my  childhood  ?  Oh,  mother,  if  he 
knew  all,  how  little  would  he  love  me!  And  Arthur, 
can  it  be  right  for  me  to  be  engaged  to  him,  and  to  de- 
ceive him,  too?" 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT  IS.  143 

"Dear  Alice,  how, often  have  we  talked  about  this,  and 
I  hoped  you  were  satisfied  as  to  the  propriety  of  being 
silent  on  the  subject  at  present.  Your  uncle's  health  is 
very  feeble  ;  he  is  subject  to  sudden  and  alarming  atta.cks  of 
sickness,  and  easily  thrown  into  a  state  of  agitation  that 
endangers  his  life.  Would  you  run  such  a  risk  ?  What  a 
grief  would  it  be  toliim  to  know  that  the  hopes  of  years 
were  to  be  destroyed,  and  by.  one  whom  he  had  nursed  in 
his  own  bosom  as  a  child.  Poor  Arthur,  too  !  away  from 
home  so  long — trusting  you  with  such  confidence,  looking 
forward  with  delight  to  the  time  of  his  return,  could  you 
bear  thus  to  dash  his  dearest  prospects  to  the  earth?" 

«  But -he  must  know  it,  mother.  I  could  not  marry  him 
with  a  lie  in  my  right  hand." 

"It  wijl  not  be  so,  Alice;  you  cannot  help  loving  Ar-v 
thiir,  above. all  men,  when  you  are  with 'him;  so  noble,  so 
generous,  so  gifted  with  all  that  is  calculated  to  inspire 
affection,,  you  will  wonder  your  heart  has  ever  wavered." 

"But  it  has,"  said  Aliqe  ; .«  and  he  must  know  all." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Mrs.  Weston ;  «  nothing  would  justify 
your  having  any  reserve  with  him,  but  this  is  not  the 
time  for  explanation.  If.  I  believed  that  you  really  and 
truly  loved  Walter,  so  as  to  make  it  impossible  for  you  to 
forget  him  and  return  Arthur's  affection  ;  if  I  thought  you 
would  not  one  day  regard  Arthur  as  he  deserves,  I  would 
not  wifih  you  to  remain  silent, for  a  day*  It  would  be  an 
injustice,  and  a,  sin,  to  do  so.  Yet  I  feel-  assured  that 
there  is  no  such  danger. 

"  A  woman,  Alice,  rarely  marries  her  first  love,  and  it 
is  well  that  it  is  so.  Her  feelings,  rather  than  her  judg- 
ment, -are  then  enlisted,  and  both  should  be  exercised 
when  so  fearful  a  thing  as  marriage  is  concerned.  You 
have  been  a  great  deal  with  Walter,  and  have  always  re- 
garded him  tenderly,  more  so  of  Jate,  because  the  feelings 
strengthen  with  time,  and  Walter's  situation  is  such  as  to 
enlist  all  your  sympathies ;  his  fascinating  appearance 


144  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN;  on, 

and  interesting  qualities  have  charmed  your  affections. 
You  see  him  casting  from  him  the  best  friends  he  has  ever 
had,  because  he  feels  condemned  of  ingratitude  in  their 
society.  He  is  going  forth -on  the  voyage' •  of  life,  alone; 
you  weep  as  any  sister -would,  to  see  him  thus.  I  do  not 
blame  him  for  loving  you; -but  I  do  censure  hhn  in  •'the 
highest  degree,  for  endeavoring  to  win  more  than  a  sis- 
ter's regard  from  you,  in  return ;  it  was  selfish-  and  dis- 
honorable. More  than  all,  I  blame  myself  for  hot  fore- 
seeing this-.  You  said  yesterday,  you  could  not  be'ar  the 
thought -of  being  separated  from  Arthur.  You  .do  not 
know  your  own  heart, •  many  a  woman  does  not,  until. time 
has  been  her  teacher;  let  it  be  yours.  Cousin  Janet  has 
thus  advised  you ;  be  guided  by  us,  and  leave  this,  thing 
to  rest  for  a  while;  you  will  have  reason  to  rejoice  at 
having  done  so.  Would  you  leave  me  for  Walter,  Alice?" 

"  No,  mother.     How  could  you  ask  me  ?" 

"  Then  trust  me  ;  I  would  not  answer  for  your  uncle's 
safety  were  we  to  speak  to  him  on  this  subject.  How 
cruel  to  pain  him,  when  a  few  months  may  restore  us  to 
the  hopes  and  happiness  which  have  been  ours !  Do  what 
is  right,  and  leave  the  future  to  God."- 

"But  how  can  I  write  to  Arthur,  when  I  know  I  am  not 
treating  him  as  I  would  wish  him  to  treat  me?*" 

"Write  as  you  always  have;  your  letters  have  never 
been  very  sentimental.  Arthur  says  you  write  on  all  sub- 
jects but  the  one  nearest  his  heart.  If  you  had  loved  him 
as  I  thought  you  did,  you  never  would  have  allowed  another 
to  usurp  his  place.  But  we  cannot  help  the  past.  Now, 
dear  child,  compose  yourself;  I  am  fatigued,  but  cannot 
sleep  until  you  do." 

Alice,  restless,  for  a  while,  at  last  fell  asleep,  but  it  was 
not  the  rest  that  brings  refreshment  and  repose.  Her 
mother  watched  her,  as  with  her  hand  now  pressed  on  her 
brow,  now  thrown  on  the  pillow,  she  slept.  Her  mind, 
overtaxed,  tried  even  in  sleep  to  release  itself  of  its  bur- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  AS   IT   IS.  145 

den.  The  wish  to  please,  and  the  effort  to  do  right,  was 
too  much  for  her  sensitive  frame.  It  was  like  the  traveler 
unaccustomed  to  fatigue  and  change,  forced  to  commence 
a  journey,  unassured  of  his  way,  and  ignorant  of  his  des- 
tination. 

Her  mother  watched  her — a  deep  hue  was  settled  under 
her  eyelashes,  the  veins  in  her  temple  were  fearfully  dis- 
tinct, and  a  small  crimson  spot  rested  on  her  cheek.  She 
watched  her,  by  the  moonlight  that  glanced  over  every 
part  of  the  room.  She  listened  to  her  heavy  breathing, 
and  lightly  touched  her  dry  and  crimson  lips.  She  stroked 
the  long  luxuriant  curls,  that  appeared  to  her  darker  than 
they  ever  had  before.  She  closed  the  nearest  window, 
lest  there  should  be  something  borne  on  the  breath  of 
night,  to  disturb  the  rest  of  the  beloved  one.  But,  mo- 
ther !  it  will  not  do ;  the  curse  of  God  is  still  abroad  in 
the  world,  the  curse  on  sin.  It  falls,  like  a  blighting  dew, 
on  the  loveliest  and  dearest  to  our  hearts.  It  is  by  our 
side  and  in  our  path.  It  is  among  the  gay,  the  rich,  the 
proud,  and  the  gifted  of  the  earth ;  among  the  poor,  the 
despised,  the  desolate  and  forsaken.  It  darkens  the  way 
of  the  monarch  and  the  cottager,  of  the  maiden  and  the 
mother,  of  the  master  and  the  slave.  Alas  !  since  it  poi- 
soned the  flowers  in  Eden,  and  turned  the  children  of  God 
from  its  fair  walks,  it  is  abroad  in  the  world — the  curse 
of  God  on  sin. 

There  is  a  blessing,  too,  within  the  reach  of  all.  He 
who  bore  the  curse,  secured  the  blessing.  Son  of  God! 
teach  us  to  be  like  thee ;  give  us  of  thy  spirit,  that  we  may 
soften  to  each  other  the  inevitable  ills  of  life.  Prepare  us 
for  that  condition  to  which  we  may  aspire ;  for  that  assem- 
bly where  will  be  united  the  redeemed  of  all  the  earth, 
where  will  rejoice  forever  in  thy  presence  those  of  all  ages 
and  climes,  who  looked  up  from  the  shadow  of  the  curse, 
to  the  blessing  which  thou  didst  obtain,  with  thy  latest 
sigh,  on  Calvary! 

13 


146 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

AFTER  Phillis  left  Mrs.  Weston's  room,  she  was  on  her 
way  to  her  -cabin,  when  she  noticed  Aunt  Peggy  sitting 
alone  at  the  door.  She  was  rather  a  homebody ;  yet  she 
reproached  herself  with  having  neglected  poor  old  Peggy, 
when  she  saw  her  looking  so  desolate  and  dejected.  She 
thought  to  pay  her  a  visit,  and  bidding  her  good  evening, 
sat  down  on  the  door-step.  ,"  Time  old  people  were  in  bed, 
Aunt  Peggy,"  said  she;  "what  are  you  settin  up  for,  all 
by  yourself?" 

"Who's  I  got  to  set  up  wid  me?"  said  Aunt  Peggy. 

"Why  don't  you  go  to  bed,  then?"  asked  Phillis. 

"Can't  sleep,  can't  sleep,"  said  Aunt  Peggy;  "aint 
slep  none  dese  two,  three  nights ;  lays  awake  lookin  at  de 
moon ;  sees  people  a  lookin  in  de  winder  at  me,  people  as 
I  aint  seen  since  I  come  from  Guinea ;  hears  strange  noises 
I  aint  never  heard  in  dis  country,  aint  never  hearn  sence 
I  come  from  Guinea." 

"All  notions,"  said  Phillis.  "If  you  go  to  sleep,  you'll 
forget  them  all." 

"  Can't  go  to  sleep,"  said  Aunt  Peggy ;  "  somefin  in  me 
won't  sleep ;  somefin  I  never  felt  afore.  It's  in  my  bones ; 
mebbe  Death's  somewhere  in  the  neighborhood." 

"I  reckon  you're  sick,  Aunt  Peggy,"  said  Phillis; 
"why  didn't  you  let  me  know  you  wasn't  well?" 

"Aint  sick,  I  tell  you,"  said  Aunt  Peggy,  angrily; 
"nothin  the  matter  wid  me.  'Spose  you  think  there's 
nothin  bad  about,  'cep  what  comes  to  me." 

Phillis  was  astonished  at  her  words  and  manner,  and 
looked  at  her  intently.  Most  of  the  servants  on  the 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  147 


plantation  stood  in  awe  of  Aunt  Peggy.  Her  having  been 
brought  from  Africa,  and  the  many  wonders  she  had  seen 
there ;  her  gloomy,  fitful  temper ;  her  tall  frame,  and  long, 
skinny  hands  and  arms ;  her  haughty  countenance,  and 
mass  of  bushy,  white  hair.  Phillis  did  not  wonder  most 
people  were  afraid  of  her.  Besides,  Peggy  was  thought 
to  have  the  power  of  foresight  in  her  old  age.  The  serv- 
ants considered  her  a  sort  of  witch,  and  deprecated  her 
displeasure.  Phillis  had  too  much  sense  for  this;  yet 
there  was  one  thing  that  she  had  often  wondered  at ;  that 
was,  that  Aunt  Peggy  cared  nothing  about  religion.  When 
employed  in  the  family,  she  had  been  obliged  to  go  some- 
times to  church :  since  she  had  been  old,  and  left  to  follow 
her  own  wishes,  she  had  never  gone.  Miss  Janet  fre- 
quently read  the  Bible,  and-  explained  it  to  her.  Alice, 
seated  on  a  low  stool  by  the  old  woman's  side,  read  to  her 
scenes  in  the  life  of  Christ,  upon  which  servants  love  to 
dwell.  But  as  far  as  they  could  judge,  there  were  no  good 
impressions  left  on  her  mind.  She  never  objected,  but 
she  gave  them  no  encouragement.  This  Phillis  had  often 
thought  of;  and  now  as  she  sat  with  her,  it  occurred  to 
her  with  overwhelming  force*  "  Death's  about  some- 
where," said  Aunt  Peggy.  "I  can't  see  him,  but  I  feels 
him.  There's  somefin  here  belongs  to  him ;  he  wants  it, 
and  he's  gwine  to  have  it." 

"'Pears  to  me,"  said  Phillis,  "Death's  always  about. 
Its  well  to  be  ready  for  him  when  he  'comes  ;  'specially  we 
old  people." 

"Always  ole  people,"  said  Aunt  Peggy,  "you  want  to 
make  out  that  Death's  always  arter  ole  people.  No  such 
thing.  Look  at  the  churchyard,  yonder.  See  any  little 
graves  thar  ?  Plenty.  Death's  always  arter  babies  ;  'pears 
like  he  loves  'em  best  of  all." 

"Yes,"  said  Phillis,  "young  people  die  as  well  as  old, 
but  'taint  no  harm  to  be  ready.  You  know,  Aunt  Peggy, 
we  aint  never  ready  till  our  sins  is  repented  of,  and  our 


148  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ^  OK, 


souls  is  washed  in  the  blood  of  Jesus.  People  ought  to 
think  of  that,  old  and  young,  but  they  don't." 

"  Death  loves  young  people,"  said  Aunt  Peggy ;  "  always 
arter  'em.  See  how  he  took  young  Mr.  William  Jones, 
thar,  in  town,  and  he  healthy  and  strong,  wid  his  young 
bride ;  and  his  father  and  mother  old  like  me.  See  how 
he  took  little  George  Mason,  not  long  ago,  that  Uncle 
Geoffrey  used  to  bring  home  wid  him  from  town,  setting 
on  de  horsa,  before  him  Didn't  touch  his  ole  grandmo- 
ther ;  she's  here  yet.  Tell  you,  Death  loves  'em  wid  de 
red  cheeks  and  bright  eyes." 

Phillis  did  not  reply,  and  the  old  woman  talked  on  as 
if  to -herself. 

"  Thinks  thar's  nothin  bad  but  what  comes  to  niggers ; 
aint  I  had  nuff  trouble  widout  Death.  I  aint  forgot  de 
time  I  was  hauled  away  from  home.  Cuss  him,  'twas  a 
black  man  done  it;  he  told  me  he'd  smash  my  brains  out 
if  I  made  a  sound.  Dragged  along  till  I  come  to  de  river  ; 
thar  he  sold  me.  I  was  pushed  in  long  wid  all  de  rest  of 
'em,  crying  and  howlin — gwine  away  for  good  and  all. 
Thar  we  was,  chained  and  squeezed  together ;  dead  or  live, 
all  one.  Tied  me  to  a  woman,  and  den  untied  me  to  fling 
her  into  de  sea — dead  all  night,  and  I  tied  to  her.  Come 
long,  cross  de  great  sea;  more  died,  more  flung  to  de 
sharks.  No  wonder  it  thundered  and  lightened,  and  de 
waves  splashed  in,  and  de  captain  prayed.  Lord  above^ 
de  captain  prayed,  when  he  was  stealin  and  murderin  of 
his  fellow-creeturs.  We  didn't  go  down,  we  got  safe 
across.  Some  went  here,  some  went  thar,  and  I  come 
long  wid  de  rest  to  Virginny.  Ever  sence,  workin  and 
slavin ;  ever  -senee,  sweatin  and  drivin ;  workin  all  day, 
workin  all  night." 

"You  never  worked  a  bit  in  the  night  time,  Aunt 
Peggy,"  said  Phillis  ;  "  and  you  know  it." 

"Worked  all  time,"  said  Aunt  Peggy,  "niggers  aint 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  149 


made  for  nothin  else.  Now,  kase  Death's  somewhar, 
wantin  somefin,  thinks  it  must  be  me." 

"I  didn't  say  'twas  you,.  Aunt  Peggy,"  said  Phillis. 

"  Wants  somefin,"  said  Aunt  Peggy.  "  Tell  you  what, 
Phillis,"  and  she  laughed,  ", wants  Miss  Alice." 

"What's  come  over  you?"  said  Phillis,  looking  at  her, 
terrified.  "  There's  nothing  the  matter  with  Miss  Alice 
but  a  headache." 

"Headache!"  said  Aunt  Peggy,  "that's  all?"  and  she 
laughed  again.  "Think  I  didn't  see  her  yesterday? 
Whars  the  red  cheeks  ? — white  about  her  lips,  black  about 
her  eyes  ;  jist  like  Mistis  when  she  was  gwine  fast,  and  de 
young  baby  on  her  arm.  Death  wants  Miss  Alice — aint 
arter  me." 

"  Aint  you  ashamed  to  talk  so  about  Miss  Alice,  when 
she's  always  coming  to  you,  bringing  you  something,  and 
trying  to  do  something  for  you?"  said  Phillis.  "You 
might  as  well  sit  here  and  talk  bad  of  one  of  the  angels 
above." 

"Aint  talking  bad  of  her,"  said  Aunt  Peggy;  "aint 
wishin  her  no  harm.  If  there  is  any  angels  she's  as  good 
as  any  of  'em ;  but  it's  her  'Death's  arter,  not  me ;  look 
here  at  my  arms — stronger  than  yourn — "  and  she  held  out 
her  sinewy,  tough  arm,  grasping  her  cane,  to  go  in  the 
house. 

Phillis  saw  she  was  not  wanted  there,  and  looking  in  to 
be  assured  that  Nancy  (Aunt  Peggy's  grand-daughter,  who 
lived  with  her  to  take  care  of  her,)  was  there,  went  home 
and  thought  to  go  to  bed.  But  she  found  no  disposition 
to  sleep  within  her.  Accustomed,  as  she  was,  to  Aunt 
Peggy's  fault  finding,  and  her  strange  way  of  talking,  she 
was  particularly  impressed  with  it  to-night.  'Twas  so 
strange,  Phillis  thought,  that  she  should  have  talked 
about  being  stolen  away  from  Guinea,  and  things  that  hap- 
pened almost  a  hundred  years  ago.  Then  her  saying,  so 
often  that,  "Death  was  about."  Phillis  was  no  more  nerv- 

13* 


150  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


ous  than  her  iron  tea-kettle,  but  now  she  could  not  feel 
right.  She  sat  down  by  the  door,  and  tried  to  compose 
herself.  Every  one  on  the  plantation  was  quiet ;  it  seemed 
to  her  the  night  got  brighter  and  brighter,  and  the  heavens 
more  crowded  with  stars  than  she  had  ever  seen  them. 
She  looked  at  her  children  to  see  if  they  all  were  well, 
and  then  gave  a  glance  at  old  Bacchus,  who  was  snoring 
loud  enough  to  wake  the  dead.  She  shook  him  heartily 
and  told  him  to-  hush  his  clatter,  but  she  might  as  well 
have  told  a  twenty-four  pounder  to  go  off  without  making 
a  noise.  Then  sire  sat  down  again  and  looked  at  Alice's 
window,  and  could  not  avoid  seeing  Aunt  Peggy's  house 
when  she  turned  in  that  direction ;  thus  she  was  reminded 
of  her  saying,  "Death  was  about  and  arter  somefin." 
Wondering  what  had  come  over  her,  she  shut  the  door  and 
laid  down  without  undressing  herself. 

She  slept  heavily  for  several  hours,  and  waked  with  the 
thought  of  Aunt  Peggy's  strange  talk  pressing  upon  her. 
She  determined  not  to  go  to  bed  again,  but  opened  the 
door  and  fixed  the-  old  rush-bottomed  chair  within  it.  Bac- 
chus, always  a  very  early  riser,  except  on  Sunday,  was 
still  asleep ;  having  had  some  sharp  twinges  of  the  rheu- 
matism the  day  before;  Phillis  hoped  he  might  sleep  them 
off;  her  own  mind  was  still  burdened  with  an  unaccountable 
weight.  She  was  glad  to  see  the  dawning  of  «  another 
blue  day.1' 

Before  her  towered,  in  their  majestic  glory,  Miss  Janet's 
favorite  mountains,  yet  were  the  peaks  alone  distinctly 
visible;  the  twilight  only  strong  enough  to  disclose  the 
mass  of  heavy  fog  that  enveloped  them.  The  stars  had 
nearly  all  disappeared,  those  that  lingered  wrere  sadly 
paling  away.  How  solemn  was  the  stillness !  She 
thought  of  the  words  of  Jacob,  "Surely  God  is  here  !" — 
the  clouds  were  flying  swiftly  beneath  the  arch  of  Heaven, 
as  if  from  God's  presence.  Many  thoughts  were  suggested 
to  her  by  the  grandeur  of  the  scene,  for  my  reader  must  re- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  151 


member,  that  an  admiration  of  the  glories  of  nature  is 
not  unfrequently  a  characteristic  of  an  uneducated  mind. 
Many  verses  of  Scripture  occurred  to  her,  " From  the 
rising  of  the  sun,  unto  the  going  down  of  the  same,  the 
Lord's  name  be  praised.  The  Lord  is  high  above  all  na- 
tions, and  his  glory  above  the  heavens.  Who  is  like  unto 
the  Lord  our  God,  who  dwelleth  on  high  ?  Who  humbleth 
himself  to  behold  the  things  that  are  in  Heaven,  and  in 
the  earth."  The  soul  of  the  slave-woman  rejoiced  in  the 
Lord,  her  Maker  and  her  Redeemer. 

Gradually  a  soft  light  arose  above  the  mountains ;  the 
fog  became  transparent  through  its  influence.  A  red  hue 
gilded  the  top  of  the  mist,  and  slowly  descended  toward 
it,  as  it  sank  away.  All  the  shadows  of  the  night  were 
disappearing,  at  the  command  once  given,  "  Let  there  be 
light,"  and  re-obeyed  at  the  birth  of  every  day.  Phillis's 
heart  warmed  with  gratitude  to  God  who  had  given  to  her 
a  knowledge  of  himself.  She  thought  of  her  many  mer- 
cies^ her  health,  her  comforts,  and  the  comparative  happi- 
ness of  each  member  of  her  family ;  of  the  kindness  of 
her  master  and  the  ladies ;  all  these  considerations  affected 
her  as  they  never  had  before,  for  gratitude  and  love  to  God 
ever  inspires  us  with  love  and  kindness  to  our  fellow  crea- 
tures. 

Her  thoughts  returned  to  Alice,  but  all  superstitious 
dread  was  gone ;  Aunt  Peggy's  strange  wanderings  no 
longer  oppressed  her ;  her  mind  was  in  its  usual  healthy 
state.  "The  good  Lord  is  above  us  all,"  she  said,  "and 
Miss  Alice  is  one  of  his  children."  She  saw  the  house 
door  open,  and  William  coming  toward  her  on  his  way  to 
the  stable.  It  was  without  any  agitation  that  she  asked 
what  was  the  matter?  "Miss  Alice  is  very  sick,"  said 
William,  "  and  I  am  going  for  the  doctor." 

"I  am  glad  I  happened  to  be  here,"  said  Phillis,,"  may 
be  they  want  me." 

"You  better  not  go  in  now,"  said  William,  "for  she's 


152  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


asleep.  Miss  Anna  told  me  to  walk  very  easy,  for  she 
would  not  have  her  waked  for  all  the  world." 

So  Phillis,  seeing  Aunt  Peggy's  door  open,  thought  she 
would  step  over  and  find  out  if  the  old  lady  had  slept  off 
her  notions. 

Aunt  Peggy's  cabin  had  two  rooms,  in  one  of  which, 
she-  and  her  granddaughter  slept,  in  the  other  Nancy 
cooked  and  washed,  and  occupied  herself  with  various 
little  matters.  Nancy  had  been  up  a  short  time  and  was 
mixing  some  Indian  bread  for  their  breakfast.  She  looked 
surprised,  at  having  so  early  a  visitor. 

"How  is  your  grandmother,  child?"  said  Phillis;  "did 
she  sleep  well?" 

"  Mighty  well,"  said  Nancy.  "  She  aint  coughed  at  all 
as  I  heard,  since  she  went  to  bed." 

«  Well,  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Phillis,  «  for  I  thought 
she  was  going  to  be  sick,  she  was  so  curious  last  night." 

"  She  didn't  complain,  any  way,"  said  Nancy,  going  on 
with  her  breadmaking,  so  Phillis  got  up  to  go  home.  As 
she  passed  the  door  of  the  other  room,  she  could  but  stop 
to  look  in  at  the  hard,  iron  features  of  the  old  creature, 
as  she  lay  in  slumber.  Her  long  black  face  contrasted 
most  remarkably  with  the  white  pillow  on  which  it  was  sup- 
ported, her  hair  making  her  head  look  double  its  actual  size, 
standing  off  from  her  ears  and  head.  One  long  black  arm 
lay  extended,  the  hand  holding  to  the  side  of  the  bed. 
Something  impelled  Phillis  to  approach.  At  first  ,she 
thought  of  her  grumbling  disposition,  her  bitter  resent- 
ment for  injuries,  most  of  which  were  fanciful,  her  uncom- 
promising dislike  to  the  servants  on  the  plantation.  She 
almost  got  angry  when  she  thought  "  the  more  you  do  for 
her,  the  more  she  complains."  Then  she  recalled  her 
talk  the  night  before ;  of  her  being  torn  away  from  her 
mother,  and  sold  off,  tied  to  a  dead  woman,  and  the  storm 
and  the  sharks ;  a  feeling  of  the  sincerest  pity  took  the 
place  of  her  first  reflections,  and  well  they  did — for  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  153 


next  idea — Phillis'  knees  knocked  together,  and  her  heart 
beat  audibly,  for  what  was  before  her  ? 

What  but  death !  with  all  his  grimness  and  despair, 
looking  forth  from  the  white  balls  that  were  only  partially 
covered  with  the  dark  lids — showing  his  power  in  the  cold 
hands  whose  unyielding  grasp  had  closed  in  the  struggle 
with  him.  Setting  his  seal  on  brow,  and  lips,  lengthening 
the  extended  form,  that  never  would  rouse  itself  from  the 
position  in  which  the-  mighty  conqueror  had  left  it,  when 
he  knew  his  victory  was  accomplished.  What  but  -death, 
indeed !  For  the  heart  and  the  pulse  were  still  forever, 
and  the  life  that  had  once  regulated  their  beatings,  had 
gone  back  to  the  Giver  of  life. 

The  two  slave  women  were  alone  together.  She  who 
had  been,  had  gone  with  all  her  years,  her  wrongs,  and 
her  sins,  to  answer  at  the  bar  of  her  Maker.  The  fierce 
and  bitter  contest  with  life,  the  mysterious  curse,  the  deal- 
ings of  a  God  with  the  children  of  men.  Think  of  it, 
Oh !  Christian !  as  you  gaze  upon  her.  The  other  slave 
woman  is  with  the  dead.  She  is  trembling,  as  in  the  pre- 
sence of  God.  She  knows  he  is  everywhere,  even  in  the 
room  of  death.  She  is  redeemed  from  the  slavery  of  sin, 
and  her  regenerate  soul  looks  forward  to  the  rest  that  re- 
maineth  to  the  people  of  God.  She  "  submits  herself  to 
an  earthly  master,"  knowing  that  the  dispensation  of  God 
has  placed  her  in  a  state  of  servitude.  Yet  she  trusts  in 
a  Heavenly. Master  with  childlike  faith,  and  says,  "May 
I  be  ready  when  he  comes  and  calls  for  me." 

Phillis  was  perfectly  self-possessed  when  she  went  back 
to  the  kitchen.  "Nancy,"  she  said,  "didn't  you  think  it 
was  strange  your  grandmother  slept  so  quiet,  and  laid  so 
late  this  morning?  She  always  gets  up  so  early.'" 

"I  didn't  think  nothin  about  it,"  said  Nancy,  "for  I 
was  'sleep  myself." 

"Well  there's  no  use  putting  it  off,"  said  Phillis.  "I 
might  as  well  tell  you,  first  as  last.  She's  dead." 


154  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

"  Dead,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Nancy. 

"I  mean  she's  dead,"  said  Phillis,  "and  cold,  and  very 
likely  has  been  so,  for  most  of  the  night.  Don't  be  fright- 
ened and  make  a  noise,  for  Miss  Alice  is  very  sick,  and 
you're  so  near  the  house." 

Nancy  went  with  her  to  the  other  room.  A  child  would 
have  known  there  was  no  mistake  about  death's  being 
there,  if  the  idea  had  been  suggested  to  it.  Nancy  was 
in  a  moment  satisfied  that  such  was  the  case,  but  she 
shed  very  few  tears.  She  was  quite  worn  out  taking  care 
of  the  old  woman,  and  the  other  servants  were  not  willing 
to  take  their  turns.  They  said  they  "  couldn't  abide  the 
cross,  ill-natured  old  thing." 

Phillis  went  home  for  a  few  moments,  and  returned  to 
perform  the  last  offices.  All  was  order  and  neatness  under 
her  superintendence ;  and  they  who  avoided  the  sight  of 
Aunt  Peggy  when  alive,  stood  with  a  solemn  awe  beside 
her  and  gazed,  now  that  she  was  dead. 

All  but  the  children-.  Aunt  Peggy  was  dead  !  She  who 
had  been  a  kind  of  scarecrow  in  life,  how  terrible  was  the 
thought  of  her  now !  The  severest  threat  to  an  unruly 
child  was,  "I  will  give  you  to  Aunt  Peggy,  and  let  her 
keep  you."  But  to  think  of  Aunt  Peggy  in  connection 
with  darkness,  and  silence,  and  the  grave,  was  dreadful 
indeed.  All  day  the  thought  of  her  kept  them  awed  and 
quiet ;  but  as  evening  drew  on,  they  crept  close  to  their 
mothers'  side,  turning  from  every  shadow,  lest  she  should 
come  forth  from  it.  Little  Lydia,  deprived  of  Miss  Janet's 
company  in  consequence  of  Alice's  sickness,  listened  to 
the  pervading  subject  of  conversation  all  day,  and  at  night 
dreamed  that  the  old  woman  had  carried  her  oft7  to  the  top 
of.  the  highest  of  the  mountains  that  stood  before  them ; 
and  there  she  sat  scowling  upon  her,  and  there,  they  were 
to  be  forever. 

When  the  next  afternoon  had  come,  and  the  body  was 
juried,  and  all  had  returned  from  the  funeral,  Phillia 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  155 

locked  up  the  vacant  cabin.  Nancy  was  to  be  employed 
in  the  house,  and  sleep  in  the  servants'  wing.  Then  Phil- 
lis  realized  that  death  had  been  there,  and  she  remem- 
bered once  more,  Aunt  Peggy's  words,  "  He's  arter  somefin, 
wants  it,  and  he's  gwine  to  have  it;  but  it  ain't  me." 

There  is  one  thing  concerning-  death  in  which  we  are 
apt  to  be  sceptical,  and  that  is,  "Does  he  want  me?" 


CHAPTER  XV. 

AUNT  Peggy's  funeral  was  conducted  quietly,  but  with 
that  respect  to  the  dead  which  is  universal  on  Southern 
plantations.  There  was  no  hurry,  no  confusion.  Two 
young  women  remained  with  the  corpse  during  the  night 
preceding  the  burial ;  the  servants  throughout  the  planta- 
tion had  holiday,  that  they  might  attend.  At  Mr.  Wes- 
ton's  request,  the  clergyman  of  the  Episcopal  church  in 
L.  read  the  service  for  the  dead.  He  addressed  the  serv- 
ants in  a  solemn  and  appropriate  manner.  Mr.  Weston 
was  one  of  the  audience.  Alice's  sickness  had  become 
serious ;  Miss  Janet  and  her  mother  were  detained  with 
her.  The  negroes  sung  one  of  their  favorite  hymns, 

"  Life  is  the  time  to  serve  the  Lord," 

their  fine  voices  blending  in  perfect  harmony.  Mr.  Cald- 
well  took  for  his  text  the  12th  verse  of  the  2d  chapter  of 
Thessalonians,  "That  ye  would  walk  worthy  of  God,  who 
hath  called  you  unto  his  kingdom  and  his  glory." 

He  explained  to  them  in  the  most  affectionate  and  beau- 
tiful manner,  that  they  were  called  unto  the  kingdom  and 
glory  of  Christ.  He  dwelt  on  the  glories  of  that  kingdom, 
as  existing  in  the  heart  of  the  believer,  inciting  him  to  a 
faithful  performance  of  the  duties  of  life ;  as  in  the  world, 


156  AUNT    PIIILLIS'S    CABIN ;    OR. 


promoting  the  happiness  and  welfare  of  all  mankind,  and 
completed  in  heaven,  where  will  be  the  consummation  of 
all  the  glorious  things  that  the  humble  believer  in  Jesus 
has  enjoyed  by  faith,  while  surrounded  by  the  temptations, 
and  enduring  the  trials  of  the  world.  He  told  them  they 
were  all  called.  Christ  died  for  all;  every  human  being 
that  had  heard  of  Jesus  and  his  atonement,  was  called  unto 
salvation.  He  dwelt  on  the  efficacy  of  that  atonement, 
on  the  solemn  occasion  when  it  was  made,  on  the  perfect 
peace  and  reconciliation  of  the  believer.  He  spoke  of  the 
will  of  God,  which  had  placed  them  in  a  condition  of  bond- 
age to  an  earthly  master ;  who  had  given  them  equal  hopes 
of  eternal  redemption  with  that  master.  He  reminded 
them  that  Christ  had  chosen  his  lot  among  the  poor  of 
this  world;  that  he  had  refused  all  earthly  honor  and 
advantage.  He  charged  them  to  profit  by  the  present 
occasion,  to  bring  home  to  their  hearts  the  unwelcome 
truth  that  death  was  inevitable.  He  pointed  to  the  coffin 
that  contained  the  remains  of  one  who  had  attained  so 
great  an  age,  as  to  make  her  an  object  of  wonder  in  the 
neighborhood.  Yet  her  time  had  come,  like  a  thief  in 
the  night.  There  was  no  sickness,  no  sudden  failing, 
nothing  unusual  in  her  appearance,  to  intimate  the  pre- 
sence of  death.  God  had  given  her  a  long  time  of  health 
to  prepare  for  the  great  change ;  he  had  given  her  every 
opportunity  to  repent,  and  he  had  called  her  to  her  ac- 
count. He  charged  them  to  make  their  preparation  now ; 
closing,  by  bringing  before  their  minds  that  great  day 
when  the  Judge  of  the  earth  would  summon  before  him 
every  soul  he  had  made.  None  could  escape  his  all-pierc- 
ing eye;  the  king  and  his  subject,  the  rich  and  the  poor, 
the  strong  and  the  weak,  the  learned  and  the  ignorant, 
the  white  and  the  colored,  the  master  and  his  slave  !  each 
•to  render  his  or  her  account  for  the  deeds  done  in  the  body. 
The  servants  were  extremely  attentive,  listening  with 
breathless  interest  as  he  enlarged  upon  the  awful  events 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  157 

of  the  Judgment.  Many  a  tear  fell,  many  a  heart 
throbbed,  many  a  soul  stretched  forth  her  wings  toward 
the  kingdom  and  glory  which  had  been  the  clergyman's 
theme. 

After  he  concluded,  their  attention  was  absorbed  by  the 
preparation  to  remove  the  body  to  its  final  resting  place. 
The  face  was  looked  upon,  then  covered;  the  coffin  lid 
screwed  down ;  strong  arms  lifting  and  bearing  it  to  the 
bier.  Nancy  and  Isaac,  her  only  relatives,  were  near  the 
coffin,  and  Mr.  Weston  and  the  clergyman  followed  them. 
The  rest  formed  in  long  procession.-  <With  measured  step 
and  appropriate  thought  they  passed  their  cabins  toward 
the  place  used  for  the  interment  of  the  slaves  on  the 
plantation. 

They  had  gone  #>  little  way,  when  a  full,  rich  female 
voice  gently  broke  in  upon  the  stillness ;  it  was  Phillis's. 
Though  the  first  line  was  sung  in  a  low  tone,  every  one 
heard  it. 

"Alas  !  and  did  my  Saviour  bleed !" 

They  joined  in,  following  the  remains  of  their  fellow- 
servant,  and  commemorating  the  sufferings  of  one  wh6 
became  as  a  servant,  that  He  might  exalt  all  who  trust  in 
Him. 

It  might  be  there  was  little  hope  for  the  dead,  but  not 
less  sufficient  the  Atonement  on  Calvary,  not  less  true  that 
for  each  and  all  "  did  he  devote  that  sacred  head;"  that 
for  pity  which  he  felt  for  all, 

"  He  hung  upon  the  tree  : 
Amazing  pity,  grace  unknown  1 
And  love  beyond  degree!" 

While  the  voices  swept  through  the  air,  a  tribute  of  lowly 
hearts  ascended  to  God. 

They  had  now  reached  the  burial  ground ;  all  was  in 
readiness,  and  the  men  deposited  their  burden  in  the 

14 


158  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OK, 


earth.  Deep  and  solemn  thought  was  portrayed  on 
every  face  ;  music  Jhad  softened  their  feelings,  and  the  re- 
flections suggested  by  the  hymn  prepared  them  for  kind 
sentiments  toward  the  dead,  though  no  one  had  loved  her 
in  life.  The  first  hard  clod  that  rattled  on  the  coffin, 
opened  the  fountain  of  their  tears;  she  who  had  been  the 
object  of  their  aversion  was  gone  from  them  forever;  they 
could  not  now  show  her  any  kindness.  How  many  a  heart 
reproached  itself  with  a  sneering  ivord,  hasty  anger,  and 
disdainful  laugh.  But  what  was  she  now  ?  dust  and  ashes. 
They  wept  as  they  saw  her  hidden  from  their  eyes,  turn- 
ing from  the  grave  with  a  better  sense  of  their  duties. 

Reader,  it  is  well  for  the  soul  to  ponder  on  the  great 
mystery,  Death!  Is  there  not  a  charm  in  it?  The 
mystery  of  so  many  opposite  memories,  ,the  strange  union 
of  adverse  ideas.  The  young,  the  old,  the  gay,- the  proud, 
the  beautiful,  the  poor,  and  the  sorrowful.  Silence,  dark- 
ness, repose,  happiness,  woe,  heaven  and  hell.  Oh  !  they 
should  come  now  with  a  startling  solemnity  upon  us  all, 
for  while  I  write,  the  solemn  tolling  of  the  bells  warns  me 
of  a  nation's  grief;  it  calls  to  millions — its  sad  reso- 
nance is  echoed  in  every  heart. 

HENRY  CLAY  is  DEAD  !  Well  may  the  words  pass  from 
lip  to  lip  in  the  thronged  street.  The  child  repeats  it 
with  a  dim  consciousness  of  some  great  woe ;  it  knows  not, 
to  its  full  extent,  the  burden  of  the  words  it  utters.  The 
youth  passes  along  the  solemn  sentence ;  there  is  a  throb 
in  his  energetic  heart,  for  he  has  seen  the  enfeebled  form  of 
the  statesman  as  it  glided  among  the  multitude,  and  has 
heard  his  voice  raised  for  his  country's  good ;  he  is 
assured  that  the  heart  that  has  ceased  to  beat  glowed 
with  all  that  was  great  and  noble. 

The  politician  utters,  too,  the  oft-repeated  sound — Henry 
Clay  is  dead !  Well  may  he  bare  his  breast  and  say,  for 
what  is  my  voice  raised  where  his  has  been  heard  ?  Is  it 
for  my  country,  or  for  my  party  and  myself?  Men  of 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  159 


business  and  mechanics  in  the  land,  they  know  that  one 
who  ever  defended  their  interests  is  gone,  and  who  shall 
take  his  place  ?  The  mother — tears  burst  from  her  eyes, 
when  looking  into  her  child's  face,  she  says,  Henry  Clay 
is  dead !  for  a  nation's  freedom  is  woman's  incalculable 
blessing.  She  thinks  with  grief  and  gratitude  of  him  who 
never  ceased  to  contend  for  that  which  gives  to  her,  social 
and  religious  rights. 

Henry  Clay  is  dead  !  Hi's  body  no  longer  animated  with 
life ;  his  spirit  gone  to  God.  How  like  a  torrent  thought 
rushes  on,  in  swift  review,  of  his  wonderful  and  glorious 
career.  His  gifted  youth,  what  if  it  were  attended  with 
the  errors  that  almost  invariably  accompany  genius  like  his ! 
Has  he  in  the  wide  world  an  enemy  who  can  bring  aught 
against  him  ?  Look  at  his  patriotism,  his  benevolence,  his 
noble  acts.  Recall  his  energy,  his  calmness,  his  constant 
devotion,  to  the  interests  of  his  country.  Look,  above  all, 
at  his  patience,  his  humility,  as  the  great  scenes  of  life 
were  receding  from  his  view,  and  futurity  was  opening  be- 
fore him.  Hear  of  the  childlike  submission  with  which  he 
bowed  to  the  Will  that  ordained  for  him  a  death-.bed,  pro- 
tracted and  painful.  "Lead  me,"  he  said  to  a  friend, 
"where  I  want  to  go,  to  the  feet  of  Jesus." 

Listen  to  the  simplicity  with  which  he  commended  his 
body  to  his- friends,  and  his  spirit,  through  faith  in  Jesus 
Christ,  to  his  God.  Regard  him  in  all  his  varied  relations 
of  Christian,  patriot,  statesman,  husband,  father,  master, 
and  friend,  and  answer  if  the  sigh  that  is  now  rending  the 
heart  of  his  country  is  not  well  merited. 

Yes !  reader,  thoughts  of  death  are  useful  to  us  all, 
whether  it  be  by  the  grave  of  the  poor  and  humble,  or 
when  listening  to  the  tolling  of  the  bell  which  announces 
to  all  that  one  who  was  mighty  in  the  land  has  been  sum- 
moned to  the  judgment  seat  of  God. 


160  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OB, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

MR.  WESTON  and  Phillis  returned  to  the  sick-room  from 
the  funeral.  Fever  was  doing  its  work  with  the  fair 
being,  the  beloved  of  many  hearts,  who  was  unconscious  of 
aught  that  was  passing  around  her.  There  was  a  startling 
light  from  the  depths  of  her  blue  eyes  ;  their  natural  soft- 
ness of  expression  gone.  The  crimson  glow  bad  flushed 
into  a  hectic  ;  the  hot  breath  from  her  parted  lips  was 
drying  away  their  moisture.  The  rich,  mournful  tones  of 
her  voice  echoed  in  sad  wailing  through  the  chambers ;  it 
constantly  and  plaintively  said  Mother !  though  that  mother 
answered  in  vain  to  its  appeal.  The  air  circulated  through 
the  room,  bearing  the  odor  of  the  woods,  but  for  her  it 
had- no  reviving  power;  it  could  not  stay  the  beatings  of 
her  pulse,  nor  relieve  the  oppression  of  her  panting  bosom. 
Oh !  what  beauty  was  about  that  bed  of  sickness.  The 
perfect  shape  of  every  feature,  the  graceful  turn  of  the 
head,  the  luxuriant  auburn  hair,  the  contour  of  her  rounded 
limbs.  There  was  no  vacancy  in  her  face.  Alas  !  visions 
of  sorrow  were  passing  in  her  mind.  A  sad  intelligence 
was  expressed  in  every  glance,  but  not  to  the  objects  about 
her.  The  soul,  subdued  by  the  suffering  of  its  tenement, 
was  wandering  afar  off,  perchance  endeavoring  to  dive 
into  the  future,  perchance  essaying  to  forget  the  past. 

What  says  that  vision  of  languishing  and  loveliness  to  the 
old  man  whose  eyes  are  fixed  in  grief  upon  it?  "Thou 
seest,  0  Christian !  the  uselessness  of  laying  up  thy  trea- 
sures here.  Where  are  now  the  hopes  of  half  thy  lifetime, 
where  the  consummation  of  all  thy  anxious  plans  ?  She  who 
has  been  like  an  angel  by  thy  side,  how  wearily  throbs  her 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT   IS.  161 


young  heart !  Will  she  perpetuate  the  name  of  thy  race  ? 
Will  she  close  thine  eyes  with  her  loving  hand?  Will  she 
drop  upon  thy  breast  a  daughter's  tear?" 

What  does  'the  vision  say  to  thee,  oh !  aged  woman  ? 
"There  is  still  more  for  thee  to  do,  more  for  thee  to  suffer. 
It  is  not  yet  enough  of  this  mortal  strife  !  Thou  mayest 
again  see  a  fair  flower  crushed  by  the  rude  wind  of  death ; 
perchance  she  may  precede  thee,  to  open  for  thine  en- 
trance the  eternal  gates  !" 

And  what  to  thee,  thou  faithful  servant  ? 

"  There  are  tears  in  thine  eye,  and  for  me.  For  me  ! 
Whom  thou  thoughtest  above  a  touch  of  aught  that  could 
bring  sorrow  or  pain.  Thou  seest,  not  alone  on  thy  doomed 
race  rests  a  curse ;  the  fierce  anger  of  God,  denounced 
against  sin — the  curse,  falls  upon  his  dearest  children.  I 
must,  like  you,  abide  by  God's  dealing  with  the  children 
of  men.  But  we  shall  be  redeemed." 

What  to  thee,  oh,  mother  ?  Thou  canst  not  read  the 
interpretation — a  cloud  of  darkness  sweeps  by  thy  soul's 
vision.  Will  it  pass,  or  will  it  rest  upon  thee  forever  ? 

Yet  the  voice  of  God  speaks  to  each  one  ;  faintly  it  may 
be  to  the  mother,  but  even  to  her.  There  is  a  rainbow  of 
hope  in  the  deluge  of  her  sorrow ;  she  sees  death  in  the  multi- 
tude that  passes  her  sight,  but  there  is  another  there,  one 
whose  form  is  like  unto  the  Son  of  God.  She  remembers 
how  He  wept  over  Lazarus,  and  raised  him  from  the  dead ; 
oh !  what  comfort  to  place  her  case  in  his  pitying  bosom  ! 

Many  were  the  friends  who  wept,  and  hoped,  and  prayed 
with  them.  Full  of  grief  were  the  affectionate  servants, 
but  most  of  all,  Phillis. 

It  was  useless  to  try  and  persuade  her  to  take  her  usual 
rest,  to  remind  her  of  her  children,  and  her  cares ;  to 
offer  her  the  choice  morsel  to  tempt  her  appetite,  the  re- 
freshing drink  she  so  much  required.  She  wanted  nothing 
but  to  weep  with  those  who  wept — nor  rest,  nor  food,  nor 
refreshing. 

14* 


162  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 


It  is  universal,  the  consideration  that  is  shown  to  the 
servants  at  the-  South,  as  regards  their  times  of"  eating  and 
of  rest.  Whatever  may  have  occurred,  whatever  fatigue 
the  different  members  of  the  family  may  feel  obliged  to 
undergo,  a  servant  is  rarely  called  upon  for  extra  attend- 
ance. In  the  Northern  country  the  whole  labor  of  a  family 
is  frequently  performed  by  one  female,  while  five  or  six 
will  do  the  same  amount  of  work  in  the  South.  A  servant 
at  the  South  is  rarely  called  upon  at  night ;  only  in  cases 
of  absolute  necessity.  Negroes  are  naturally  sleepy- 
headed — they  like  to  sit  up  late  at  night, — in  winter,  over 
a  large  fire,  nodding  and  bumping  their  heads  against  each 
other,  or  in  summer,  out  of  doors;  but  they  take  many  a 
nap  before  they  can  get  courage  to  undress  and  go  regu- 
larly to  bed.  They  may  be  much  interested  in  a  conver- 
sation going  on,  but  it  is  no  violation  of  their  code  of  eti- 
quette to  smoke  themselves  to  sleep  while  listening.  Few 
of  the  most  faithful  servants  can  keep  awake  well  enough 
to  be  of  real  service  in  cases  of  sickness.  There  is  a  feel- 
ing among  their  owners,  that  they  work  hard  during  the 
day  and  should  be  allowed  more  rest  than  those  who  are 
not  obliged  to  labor.  "  Do  not  disturb  servants  when  they 
are  eating,"  is  the  frequent  charge  of  a  Southern  mother, 
"they  have  not  a  great  many  pleasures  within  their  reach  ; 
never  do  any  thing  that  will  lessen  their  comforts  in  the 
slightest  degree."  Mrs.  Weston,  even  in  her  own  deep 
sorrow,  was  not  unmindful  of  others ;  she  frequently  tried 
to  induce  Phillis  to  go  home,  knowing  that  she  must  be 
much  fatigued.  «  I  cannot  feel  tired,  Phillis  ;  a  mother 
could  not  sleep  with  her  only  child  as  Alice  is ;  I  do  not 
require  the  rest  that  you  do." 

"  You  needs  it  more,  Miss  Anna,  though  you  don't 
think  so  now.  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  Unless  you 
drive  me  away,  I  shan't  go  until  God's  will  be  done,  for 
life  or  death." 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  163 

Miss  Junct  often  laid  down  and  slept  for  an  hour  or 
two,  and  returned  refreshed  to  the  sick  chamber.  Her 
voice  retained  its  cheerfulness  and  kept  Mrs.  Weston's 
heart  from  failing.  "  Hope  on,  Anna,"  she  would  say, 
"  as  long  as  she  breathes  we  must  not  give  her  up  ;  how 
many  have  been  thought  entirely  gone,  and  then  revived. 
Wo  must  hope,  and  God  will  do  the  rest." 

This  "  hoping  on"  was  one  great  cause  of  Cousin  Janet's 
usefulness  during  a  long  life ;  religion  and  reason  alike 
demand  it  of  us.  Many  grand  and  noble  actions  have 
been  done  in  the  world,  that  never  could  have  been  ac- 
complished without  hoping  on.  When  we  become  discour- 
aged, how  heavy  the  task  before  us ;  it  is  like  drooping  the 
eyes,  and  feebly  putting  forth  the  hands  to  find  the  way, 
when  all  appears  to  us  darkness ;  but  let  the  eye  be  lifted 
and  the  heart  hope  on,  and  there  is  found  a  glimmering 
of  light  which  enables  the  trembling  one  to  penetrate  the 
gloom.  Alice's  symptoms  had  been  so  violent  from  the 
first,  her  disease  had  progressed  so  rapidly,  that  her  con- 
dition was  almost  hopeless ;  ere  Mr.  Weston  thought  of 
the  propriety  of  informing  Arthur  of  her  condition.  The 
first  time  it  occurred  to  him,  he  felt  convinced  that  he 
ought  not  to  delay.  He  knew  that  Arthur  never  could  be 
consoled,  if  Alice,  his  dearly  loved,  his  affianced  wife, 
should  die  without  his  having  the  consolation  of  a  parting 
word  or  look.  He  asked  Cousin  Janet  her  opinion. 

She  recalled  all  that  had  passed  previous  to  Alice's  ill- 
ness. As  she  looked  into  Mr.  Weston's  grieved  and  honest 
face,  the  question  suggested  itself, — Is  it  right  thus,  to 
keep  him  in  ignorance?  She  only  wavered  a  moment. 
Already  the  traces  of  agitation  caused  by  his  niece's  ill- 
ness, were  visible  in  his  flushed  face  and  nervous  frame ; 
what  then  might  be  the  result  of  laying  before  him  a  sub- 
ject in  which  his  happiness  was  so  nearly  concerned? 
Besides,  she  felt  convinced  that  even  should  Alice  im- 
prove, the  suffering  which  had  been  one  cause  of  her  sick- 


164  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


ness,  might  be  renewed  with  double  force  if  suggested  by 
Arthur's  presence. 

"  I  know,  my  dear  cousin,"  she  said,  "it  will  be  a  terri- 
ble grief  to  Arthur,  should  Alice  be  taken  front  us,  yet  I 
think  you  had  better  not  write.  Dr.  Lawton  says,  that  a 
very  short  time  must  decide  her  case ;  and  were  the  worst 
we  fear  to  occur,  Arthur  could  not  reach  here  in  time  to 
see  her  with  any  satisfaction.  If  he  lose  her,  it  will  pro- 
bably be  better  for  him  to  remember  her  in  health  and 
beauty." 

Mr.  Weston  trembled,  and  burst  into  tears.  "  Try  and 
not  give  way,"  said  Miss  Janet  again;  "we  are  doing  all 
we  can.  We  must  hope  and  pray.  I  feel  a  great  deal  of 
hope.  God  is  so  merciful,  he  will  not  bring  this  stroke 
upon  you  in  your  old  age,  unless  it  is  necessary.  Why  do 
you  judge  for  him  ?  He  is  mighty  to  save.  <  The  Lord 
on  high,t  is  mightier  than  the  noise  of  many  waters,  yea, 
than  the  mighty  waves  of  the  sea.'  Think  of  His  mercy 
and  power  to  save,  and  trust  in  Him." 

In  these  most  trying  scenes  of  life,  how  little  do  we 
sympathize  with  the  physician.  How  much  oppressed  he 
must  feel,  with  the  charge  upon  him.  He  is  the  adviser 
— to  him  is  left  the  direction  of  the  potions  which  may  be 
the  healing  medicine  or  the  deadly  poison.  He  may  se- 
lect a  remedy  powerful  to  cure,  he  may  prescribe  one 
fatal  to  the  invalid.  How  is  he  to  draw  the  nice  line  of 
distinction  ?  he  must  consider  the  disease,  the  constitution, 
the  probable  causes  of  the  attack.  His  reputation  is  at 
stake — -his  happiness — for  many  eyes  are  turned  to  him,  to 
read  an  opinion  he  may  not  choose  to  give  in  words. 

If  he  would  be  like  the  great  Healer,  he  thinks  not  only 
of  the  bodily  sufferings  that  he  is  anxious  to  assuage,  but 
of  the  immortal  soul  on  the  verge  of  the  great  Interview, 
deciding  its  eternal  destiny.  He  trembles  to  think,  should 
he  fail,  it  may  be  hurried  to  its  account.  If  he  be  a  friend, 
how  do  the  ties  of  association  add  to  his  burden.  Here  is 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT    IS.  165 


one  whom  he  has  loved,  whose  voice  he  is  accustomed  to 
hear ;  shall  he,  through  neglect  or  mismanagement,  make 
a  void  in  many  hearts  ?  Shall  he,  from  want  of  skill, 
bring  weeping  and  desolation  to  a  house  where  health  and 
joy  have  been  ?  Alice  was  very  dear  to  Dr.  Lawton,  she 
was  the  companion  of  his  daughters ;  he  had  been  accus- 
tomed to -regard  her  as  one  of  them ;  he  was  untiring  in 
his  attendance,  but  from  the  first,  had  feared  the  result. 
Mrs.  Weston  had  concealed  nothing  from  him,  she  knew 
that  he  considered  a  physician  bound  in  honour  to  know 
the  affairs  of  a  family  only  among  themselves — she  had  no 
reserves,  thus  giving  him  every  assistance  in  her  power, 
in  conducting  the  case.  She  detailed  to  him,  explicitly, 
all  that  might  have  contributed  to  produce  it. 

"You  know,  my  dear  madam,"  the  doctor  said,  "that 
at  this  season  we  have,  even  in  our  healthy  country,  severe 
fevers.  Alice's  is  one  of  the  usual  nature ;  it  could,  have 
been  produced  by  natural  causes.  We  cannot  say,  it  may 
be  that  the  circumstances  you  have  been  kind  enough  to 
confide  to  me,  have  had  a  bad  effect  upon  her.  The  effbrt 
to  do  right,  and  the  fear  lest  she  should  err,  may  have 
strained  her  sensitive  mind.  She  must  have  felt  much 
distress  in  parting  with  Walter,  whom  she  has  always 
loved  as  a  brother.  You  have  only  done-  your  duty.  I 
should  not  like  to  see  a  daughter  of  mine  interested  in 
that  young  man.  I  fear  he  inherits  his  father's  violent 
passions,  yet  his  early  training  may  bring  the  promised 
blessing.  Alice  has  that  sort  of  mind,  that  is  always  in- 
fluenced by  what  is  passing  at  the  time  ;  remember  what  a 
child  she  was  when  Arthur  left.  There  are  no  more 
broken  hearts  now-a-days — sometimes  they  bend  a  little, 
but  they  can  be  straightened  again.  If  Alice  gets  well, 
you  need  not  fear  the  future ;  though  you  know  I  disap- 
prove of  cousins  marrying." 

"Doctor,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  "I  know  you  have  not 
given  her  up !" 


166  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


"I  never  give  anybody  up,"  said  the  doctor.  "Who 
will  say  what  God  intends  to  do  ?  I  trust  she  will  strug- 
gle through.  Many  a  storm  assails  the  fair  ship  on  her 
first  voyage  over  the  seas.  She  may  be  sadly  tossed 
about  with  the  wind  and  waves ;  but  may  breast  it  gal- 
lantly, and  come  back  safe,  after  all.  We  must  do  what 
we  can,  and  hope  for  the  best."  These  words  strength- 
ened the  mother's  heart  to  watch  and  hope. 

The  doctor  laid  down  to  sleep  for  an  hour  or  two  in 
the  afternoon.  Cousin  Janet,  Mrs.  Weston,  and  Phillis 
kept  their  watch  in  silence.  The  latter  gently  fanned 
AHce,  who  lay  gazing,  but  unconscious ;  now  looking  in- 
quiringly into  her  mother's  face,  now  closing  her  eyes  to 
every  thing.  There  was  no  tossing  or  excitement  about 
her,  that  was  over.  Her  cheek  was  pale,  and  her  eyes 
languid  and  faded.  One  would  not  have  believed,  to  have 
looked  upon  her,  how  high  the  fever  still  raged.  Sud- 
denly she  repeated  the  word  that  had  often  been  on  her 
lips — "  Mother."  Then,  with  an  effort  to  raise  herself, 
she  sank  back  upon  her  pillow,  exhausted.  A  sorrowful 
look,  like  death,  suffused  itself  over  her  countenance. 
Ah  !  how  throbbed  those  hearts  !  Was  the  dreaded  mes- 
senger here  ? 

"Miss  Anna,"  whispered  Phillis,  "  she  is  not  gone,~her 
pulse  is  no  lower;  it  is  the  same." 

"Is  it  the  same?  are  you  sure?"  said  Mrs.  Weston, 
who,  for  a  few  moments,  had  been  unable  to  speak,  or 
even  to  place  her  finger  on  the  pulse. 

"It  is  no  worse,  if  you'll  believe  me,"  said  Phillis  ;  "it 
may  be  a  little  better,  but  it  is  no  worse." 

"  Had  I  not  better  wake  the  doctor  ?"  said  Mrs.  Wes- 
ton, who  hardly  knew  what  to  believe. 

Miss  Janet  gently  touched  the  wrist  of  the  invalid. 

«  Do  not  wake  him,  my  dear ;  Phillis  is  right  in  saying 
she  is  no  worse ;  it  was  a  fainting,  which  is  passing  away. 
See !  she  looks  as  usual.  Give  her  the  medicine,  it  is 


SOUTHERN    LIFE  ~AS   IT   IS.  167 

time ;  and  leave  her  quiet,  the  doctor  may  be  disturbed 
to-night." 

The  night  had  passed,  and  the  morning  was  just  visible, 
as  symptoms  of  the  same  nature  affected  the  patient.,  Dr. 
Lawton  had  seen  her  very  late  at  night,  and  had  re- 
quested them  to  awaken  him  should  there  be  any  change 
in  her  appearance  or  condition.  Oh,  how  these  anxious 
hearts  feared  and  hoped  through  this  night.  What  might 
it  bring  forth ;  joy  or  endless  weeping  ? 

This  dread  crisis  past,  and  what  would  be  the  result  ? 

"  Doctor,"  said  Phillis,  gently  awaking  him,  "  I'm  sorry 
to  disturb  you.  Miss  Alice  has  had  another  little  turn, 
and  you'd  better  see  her." 

"How  is  her  pulse?"  said  the  doctor,  quickly.  "Is  it 
failing  ?" 

"  Tears  to  me  not,  sir  ;   but  you  can  see." 

They  went  to  the  room,  and  the  doctor  took  Alice's 
small  wrist,  and  lightly  felt  her  pulse.  Then  did  the  mo- 
ther watch  his  face,  to  see  its  writing.  What  was  there  ? 

Nothing  but  deep  attention.  The  wrist  was  gently  laid 
down,  and  the  doctor's  hand  passed  lightly  over  the  white 
arm.  Softly  it  touched  the  forehead,  and  lay  beneath  the 
straying  curl.  There  is  no  expression  yet ;  but  he  takes 
the  wrist  again,  and,  laying  one  hand  beneath  it,  he 
touches  the  pulse.  Softly,  like  the  first  glance  of  moon- 
light on  the  dark  waters,  a  smile  is  seen  on  that  kind  face. 
There  is  something  else  besides  the  smile.  Large  tears 
dropped  from  the  physician's  eyes ;  tears  that  he  did  not 
think  to  wipe  away.  He  stooped  towards  the  fragile  suf- 
ferer, and  gently  as  the  morning  air  breathes  upon  the 
drooping  violet,  he  kissed  her  brow.  "  Alice,  sweet  one," 
he  said,  "  God  has  given  you  to  us  again." 

Where  is  that  mother  ?  Has  she  heard  those  cheering 
words  ?  She  hears  them,  and  is  gone ;  gone  even  from 
the  side  of  her  only  one.  The  soul,  when  there  is  too 
much  joy,  longs  for  God.  She  must  lay  her  rich  burden 


168  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


at  the  mercy-seat.  Now,  that  mother  kneels,  but  utters 
no  word.  The  incense  of  her  heart  knows  no  language, 
and  needs  none ;  for  God  requires  it  not.  The  sacrifice 
of  praise  from  a  rejoicing  heart,  is  a  grateful  offering  that 
he  accepts. 

"Miss  Anna,"  said  Phillis,  with  trembling  voice,  but 
beaming  eye,  "  go  to  bed  now ;  days  and  nights  you 
have  been  up.  How  can  you  stand  it  ?  The  doctor  says 
she  is  a  great  deal  better,  but  she  may  be  ill  for  a  good 
while  yet,  and  you  will  give  out.  I  will  stay  with  her  if 
you  will  take  a  sleep." 

"  Sleep ;"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  No,  no,  faithful  Phillis, 
not  yet ;  joy  is  too  new  to  me.  God  for  ever  bless  you 
for  your  kindness  to  me  and  my  child.  You  shall  go 
home  and  sleep,  and  to-nignt,  if  she  continue  to  do  well,  I 
will  trust  her  with  you,  and  take  some  rest  myself." 

Mr.  Weston  awoke  to  hear  glad  tidings.  Again  and 
again,  through  the  long  day,  he  repeated  to  himself  his 
favorite  Psalm,  "Praise  the  Lord,  oh  my  soul." 

Miss  Janet's  joy,  deep  but  silent,  was  visible  in  her 
happy  countenance.  Nor  were  these  feelings  confined  to 
the  family ;  every  servant  on  the  estate  made  his  mas- 
ter's joy  his  own.  They  sorrowed  with  him  when  he 
sorrowed,  but  now  that  his  drooping  head  was  lifted  up, 
many  an  honest  face  regarded  him  with  humble  congratu- 
lation, as  kindly  received  as  if  it  had  come  from  the 
highest  in  the  land. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  169 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ALICE  steadily,  though  slowly,  improved;  and  Phillis 
again  employed  herself  with  her  children  and  her  work. 
Things  had  gone  on  very  well,  with  one  of"  her  daughter's 
constant  superintendence ;  but  Bacchus  had  taken  advan- 
tage of  being  less  watched  than  usual,  and  had  indulged  a 
good  deal,  declaring  to  himself  that  without  something  to 
keep  up  his  spirits  he  should  die,  thinking  about  Miss  Alice. 
Phillis,  lynx-eyed  as  she  always  was,  saw  that  such  had 
been  the  case. 

It  was  about  a  week  after  Alice  commenced  to  improve, 
that  Phillis  went  to  her  house  in  the  evening,  after  having 
taken  charge  of  her  for  several  hours,  while  Mrs.  Weston 
slept.  Alice  was  very  restless  at  night,  and  Mrs.  Weston 
generally  prepared  herself  for  it,  by  taking  some  repose 
previously;  this  prevented  the  necessity  of  any  one  else 
losing  rest,  which,  now  that  Alice  was  entirely  out  df 
danger,  she  positively  refused  to  permit.  As  Phillis 
went  in  the  door,  Lydia  was  on  her  knees,  just  finishing 
the  little  nightly  prayer  that  Miss  Janet  had  taught  her. 
She  got  up,  and  as  she  was  about  to  go  to  bed,  saw  her 
mother,  and  bade  her  good  night.  .. 

"  Good  night,  and  go  to  bed  like  a  good  child.  Miss 
Alice  says  you  may  come  to  see  her  again  to-morrow," 
Phillis  replied. 

Lydia  was  happy  as  a  queen  with  this  promise.  Aunt 
Phillis  took  her  pipe,  and  her  old  station  outside  the  door, 
to  smoke.  Bacchus  had  his  old,  crazy,  broken-backed  chair 
out  there  already,  and  he  was  evidently  resolving  some- 
thing in  his  mind  of  great  importance,  for  he  propped  the 

15 


170  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


chair  far  back  on  its  onfe  leg,  and  appeared  to  be  taking 
the  altitude  of  the  mountains  in  the  moon,  an  unfailing 
sign  of  a  convulsion  of  some  kind  in  the  inner  man. 

"Phillis,"  said  he,  after  a  long  silence,  "do  you  know,  it 
is  my  opinion  that  that  old  creature,"  pointing  with  his 
thumb  to  Aunt  Peggy's  house,,  ".js  so  long  used  to  grum- 
blin'  and  fussin',  that  she  can't,  to  save  heT  life,  lie  still  in 
her  grave." 

"What  makes  you  think  so?"  said  Phillis. 

".Bekase,  I  believes  in  my  soul  she's  back  thar  this 
minute." 

« People  that  drink,  Bacchus,- can't  expect  nothin'  else 
than  to  be  troubled  with  notions.  I  was  in  hopes  Aunt 
Peggy's  death  would  have  made  you  afeered  to  go  on  sin- 
ning. 'Steajl  of  that,  when  we  was  all  in  such  grief,  and 
didn't  know  what  was  comin'  upon  us,  you  must  go  drink- 
ing. You'd  better  a  been  praying,  I  tell  you.  But  be 
sure  your  <  sin  will  find  you  out'  some  day  or  other.  The 
Lord  above  knows  I  pray  for  you  many  a  time,  when  I'm 
hard  at  work.  My  hearty  is  nigh  breaking  when  I  think 
where  the  drunkards  will  be,  when  the  Lord  makes  up  his 
jewels.  They  can't  enter  the  kingdom  of  Heaven;  there 
is  no  place  for  them  there.  Why  can't  you  repent?  'Spose 
you  die  in  a  drunken  fit,  how  will  I  have  the  heart  to  work 
when  I  remember  where  you've  got  to.;  <  where  the  worm 
never  dieth,  and  the  fire  is  not  quenched.' ' 

Bacchus  was  rather  taken  aback  by  this  sudden  appeal, 
and  he  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair;  but  after  a  little  re- 
flection, and  a  good  long  look  at  the  moon,  he  recovered 
his  confidence. 

"Phillis,"  said  he,  "do  you  b'lieve  in  sperrits?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Phillis,  drily,  "of  no  kind." 

Bacchus  was  at  a  loss  again ;  but  he  pretended  not  to 
understand  her,  and  giving  a  hitch  to  his  uncertain  chair, 
he  got  up  some  courage,  and  said,  doggedly, 

"Well,  I  do." 


•SOUTHERN    LIF&  AS    IT    IS.  171 

"I  don't," -said  Phillis,  positively,  "of  no  kind." 

Bacchus  was  q.uite  discomposed"  again-,  but  he  »aid  in  an 
appealing  voice  to  his  wife,  "Pfrillis,  I  couldn't  stand  it; 
when  Miss  Alice  was  so  low,  you  was  busy,  and  Could  be 
a  doin  soinethin  for  her ;  but  what  could  I  do  ?  Here  I  sot 
all  night  a  cryin,  a  thinkin  about  her  and  young  master. 
I  'spected  for  true  she  was  gwine  to  die ;  and  my  blessed 
grief!  what  would  have :  come  of  us  all.  Master  Arthur, 
he'd  a  come  home,  but  what  woulxj  be  the  use,  and  she  dead 
and  gone.  Every  which  way  I  looked,  I  think  I  see  Miss 
Alice  going  up  to  Heaven,  a  waving  her  hand  good-by  to  us, 
and  we  all  by  ourselves,  weepin  and  wailin.  'Deed,  Phillis, 
I  co'uldn't  stand  it ;  if  I  hadn't  had  a  little' whiskey  I  should 
a  been  dead  and  cold  afore' now." 

"  You'll  be  dead  and  cold  afore  long  with  it,"  said  Phillis. 

"I  couldn't  do  nothing  but  cry,  Phillis,"  said  Bacchus, 
snuffing  and  blowing  his  nose;  "and  I  thought  I  might  be 
wanted  for  somethiri,  so  I  jest  took' a  small  drop  to  keep 
up  my  strength.'5 

Phillis  said  nothing.  She  was  rather  a  hard-hearted 
woman  where  whiskey  was  concerned ;  so  she  gave  Bacchus 
no  encouragement  to  go  on  excusing  himself."  * 

"  I  tell  you  why  I  believes  in  ghosts,"  said  Bacchus,  af- 
ter a  pause.  « I've  see'd  one." 

"When?"  said  Phillis. 

"I  was  telling  you  that- while  Miss  Alice  was  so  ill," 
said  Bacchus,  "  I  used  to  set  up  most  of  de  night.  I  don't 
know  how  I  kep  up,  for  you  know  niggers  takes  a  sight  of 
sleep,, 'specially  when  they  aint  very  young,  like  me.  Well, 
I  thought  one  time  about  Miss  Alice,  but  more  about  old 
Aunt  Peggy.  You  know  she  used  to  set  outside  de  door 
thar,  very  late  o'  nights.  It  'peared  like  1  was  'spectin  to 
see  her  lean  on  her  stick,  and  come  out  every  minute.  Well, 
one  night  I  was  sure  I  hear  <somethin  thar.  I  listened,  and 
then  somethin  gin  a  kind  o'  screech,  sounded  like  de  little 
niggers  when  Aunt  Peggy  used  to  gin  'em  a  lick  wid  her 


172  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OE, 


switch.  Arter  a  while  I  see  de  curtain  lifted  up.  I  couldn't 
see  what  it  was,  but  it  lifted  it  up.  I  hearn  some  more 
noise,  and  I  felt  so  strange  like,  that  I  shut  de  door  to, 
and  went  to  bed.  Well,  I  seed  dat,  and  heard  it  for  two 
or  three  nights.  I  was  gettin  scared  I  tell  you ;  for,  Phil- 
lis,  there's  somethin  awful  in  thinkin  of  people  walking  out 
of  their  graves,  and  can't  get  rest  even  thar.  I  couldn't 
help  comin,  every  night,  out  here,  'bout  twelve  o'clock, 
for  that's  time  sperrits,  I  mean  ghosts,  is  so  uneasy.  One 
night,  de  very  night  Miss  Alice  got  better,  I  hearn  de 
screech  an  de  fuss,  and  I  seed  de  curtain  go  up,  and  pretty 
soofr  what  do  you  think  I  saw.  I'm  tellin'  you.no  lie,  Phillis. 
I  seed  two  great,  red  eyes,  a  glarin  out  de  winder ;  a  glarin 
right  at  me.  If  you  believe  me,  I  fell  down  out  of  dis  very 
cheer,  and  when  I  got  up,  I  gin  one  look  at  de  winder, 
and  thar  was  de  red  eyes  glarin  agin,  so  I  fell  head-fore- 
most over  de  door  step,  tryin  to, get  in  quick,  and  then 
when  I  did  get  in,  I  locked  de  door.  My  soul,  wasn't  I 
skeered.  I  never  looked  no  more.  I  saen  nuff  dat  time." 

"  Your  head  was  mighty  foolish,"  said  Phillis,  "and  you 
just  thought  you  saw.it." 

"  No  such  thing.  I  saw  de  red  eyes — Aunt  Peggy's  red 
eyes." 

"High!"  said  Phillis,  "Aunt  Peggy  hadn't  redeyes." 

"  Not  when  she  was  'live  ?"  said  Bacchus.  "  But  thar's  no 
knowin  what  kind  of  eyes  ,sperrits  gets,  'specially  when 
they  gets  where  it  aint  very  comfortable;" 

"  Well,"  said  Phillis,  "these  things  are  above  us.  We've 
got  our  work  to  do,  and  the  Lord  he  does  his.  I  don't 
bother  myself  about  ghosts.  I'm  trying  to  get  to  heaven, 
and  I  know  I'll  never  get  there  if  I  don't  get  ready  while 
I'm  here.  Aunt  Peggy  aint  got  no  power  to  come  back, 
unless  Godsends  her  ;  and  if  He  sends,  her,  its  for  some 
good  reason.  You  better  come  in  now,  and  kneel  down, 
and  ask  God  to  give  you  strength  to  do  what  is  right. 
We've  got  no  strength  but  what  He  gives  us.". 


SOUTHERN   LIFE' -AS -IT   IS.  173 

"  I  wish  you'd  pray  loud  to-night/'  said  Bacchus;  "for 
I  aint  felt  easy  of  late,  and  somehow  I  can't  pray." 

"  Well,  I  can't  do  much,  but  I  can  ask  God  to  give  us 
grace  to  repent  of  our  sins,  and  to  serve  him  faithfully," 
said  Phillis. 

And  they  both  kneeled  down,  and  prayer  went  forth 
from  an  earnest  heart ;  and  who  shall  say  that  a  more  wel- 
come offering  ascended  to  His  ear  in  that  time  .of  prayer, 
than  the  humble  but  believing  petition  of  the  slave ! 

Phillis  was  of  a  most  matter-of-fact  disposition,  and  pos- 
sessed, as  an  accompaniment,  an  investigating  turn  of  mind; 
so,  before  any  one  was  stirring  in  her  cottage,  she  dressed 
herself,  and  took  from  a  nail  a  large-sized  key,  that  was 
over  the  mantel-piece.  She  hung  it  to  her  little  finger, 
and  made  straight  for  Aunt  Peggy's  deserted  cabin.  She 
granted  herself  a  search-warrant,  and  determined  to  find 
some  clue  to  Bacchus's  marvellous  story.  Her  heart  did 
not  fail  her,  even,  when  she  put  the  key  in  the'  lock,  for 
she  was  resolved  as  a  grenadier,  and  she  would  not  have 
turned  back  if  the  veritable  red  ejres  themselves  had  raised 
the  cotton  curtain,  and  looked  defiance.  The  lock  was 
somewhat  out  of  repair,  requiring  a  little  coaxing  be- 
fore she  could  get  the  key  in,  and  then  it  was  some  time  be- 
fore she  succeeded  in  turning  it;  at  last  it  yielded,  and 
with  one  push  the  door  flew  open. 

Now  Phillis,  anxious  as  she  was  to  have  the  matter 
cleared  up,  did  not  care  to  have  it  done  so  instantaneously, 
for  hardly  had  she  taken  one  step  in  the  house  before  she, 
in  the  most  precipitous  manner,  backed  two  or  three  out 
of  it. 

At  first  &he  thought  Aunt  Peggy  herself  had  flown  at 
her,  and  she  could  hardly  help  calling  for  assistance,  but 
making  a  great  effort  to  recover  her  composure,  she  saw 
at  a  glance  that  it  was  Aunt  Peggy's  enormous  black  cat, 
who  not  only  resembled  her  in  color,  but  disposition.  Ju- 
piter, for  that  was  the  cat's  name,  did  not  make  another 

15* 


174  AUNT   PJHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


grab,  but  stood  with  his  back  raised,  glaring  at  her,  while 
Phillis,  breathing  very  short,  sunk  into  Aunt  Peggy's  chair 
and  wiped  the  cold  perspiration  from  her  face  with  her 
apron. 

"Why,  Jupiter,"  said  Phillis,  "is  this  you?  ,  How  on 
earth  did  I  happen  to  forget  you.  Your  eyes  is  red,  to  be 
sure,  and  no  wonder,  you  poor,  half-starved  creature.  I 
must  a  locked  you  up  here,  the  •  day  after  the  funeral, 
and  I  never  would  a  forgot  you,  if  it  hadn't  been  my 
mind  was  so  taken  up  with  Miss  Alice,  .  Why,  you're  thin 
as  a  snake, — wait  a  minute  and  I!H  bring  you  something 
to~eat." 

Jupiter,  who  had  lived  exclusively  on  mice  for  a  fort- 
night, was  evidently  subdued  >by  the  prospects  of  an  .early 
breakfast.  The  apology  Phillis  had  made  him  seemed  not 
to  /be  without  its  effect,  for  when  she  came,  back,  with 
a  small  tin  pan  of  bread  and  milk,  and  a  piece  of  bacpn 
hanging  to  a  fork?  his  back  was  not  the  least  elevated,  and 
he  proceeded  immediately  to  the  hearth  where  the  proven- 
der was  deposited,  and ,  to  use  an  inelegant  Westernism, 
"walked  into  it;"  Phillis  meanwhile  going  home,  perfectly 
satisfied  with  the  result  of  her  exploration.  Bacchus 's 
toilet  was  completed,  he  was  just  raising  up  from  the  exer- 
tion of  putting  on  his  slippers,  when  Phillis  came^  in, 
laughing. 

,  This  was  an  unusual  phenomenon,  so  early Jn  the  morn- 
ing, and  Bacchus  was  slightly .  uneasy  at  -i$B  portent,  but 
he  ventured  to  ask  her  what  was  the  matter.. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Phillis,  "  only  I've  seen  the  ghost." 

"Lord!  what?" 

<<The  ghost!"  said. Phillis,  "and  its  got  red  eyes,  too, 
sure  enough." 

"Phillis,"  said  Bacchus,  appealingly, ." you  aint  much 
used  to  jokin,  and  I  know  you  wouldn't  tell  an  ontruth ; 
what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  mean,"  said  Phillis,  "that  the  very  ghost  you  saw, 


SOUTHERN  LIFE; AS  IT  is.  175 

and  heard  screeching,  with  the  red  eyes  glarin  at  you 
through  the  window,  I've  seen  this  morning." 

"Phillis,"  said  Bacchus,  sinking  back  in  his  chair, 
"  'taint  possible  !  What  was  it  a  doin  ?" 

"  I  can  tell  you  what  its  doing  now,"  said  Phillis,  "its 
eating  bread  and  milk  and  a  piece  6"£  bacon,  as  hard  as  it 
can.  Its  eyes  is  red,  to  be  sure,  but  I  reckon  yours,  would 
be  red  or  shut,  one,  if  you'd  a  been  nigh  a  fortnight  locked 
up  in  an  empty  house,  with  now  and  then  a  mouse  to  eat. 
Why,  Bacchus,  how  come  it,  you  forgot  old  Jupiter  ?  I 
was  too  busy  to  .think  about  cats,  but  I  wonder  nobody 
else  didn't  think  of  the  poor  animal." 

"  Sure  enough,"  said  Bacchus,  slowly 'recovering  from 
his  astonishment,  "its  old  Jupiter — why  I'd  a  sworn  on 
the  Bible  'twas  Aunt  Peggy's  sperrit.  Well,  I  do  b'lieve  ! 
that  old  cat's  lived -all  this  time  ;  well,  he  airit  no  cajb  any 
now — I  always  said  he  was  a  witch,  and  now  I  knows,  it, 
that  same  old  Jupiter.  But,  Phillis,  gal,  I  wouldn't  say 
nothin  at  all  about  it — we'll  have  all  clese  low  niggers 
laughin  at  us." 

"What  they  going  to  laugh  at  me  about?"  said  Phillis. 
"  I  didn't  see.no  ghost." 

"  Well,  its  all  de  same,"  said  Bacchus,  "  they'll  laugh 
at  me— and  man  and  wife's  one — 'taint  worth  while  to  say 
nothin  'bout  it,  as  I  see." 

"  I  shan't  say  nothing  about  it  as  long  as  you  keep 
sober ;  but  mind,  you  go  pitching  and  tumbling  about,  and 
I  aint  under  no  kind  of  promise  to  keep  your  secret.  And 
its  the  blessed  truth,  they'd  laugh,  sure  enough,  at  you,  if 
they  did  know  it." 

And  the  hint  had  such  a  good  effect,  that  after,  a  while, 
it  was  reported  all  over  the  plantation  that  Bacchus  "had 
give  up  drinkin,  for  good  and  all." 


176  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


CHAPTEE  XVIII. 

IT  was  in  answer  to  Arthur's  letter,  expressing  great 
anxiety  to  hear  from  'home,  in  consequence  of  so  long  a 
time  having  passed  without  his  receiving  his  usual  letters, 
that  Mr.  Weston  wrote  him  of  Alice's  illness.  She  was 
then  convalescing,  but  in  so  feeble  and  nervous  a  condition, 
that  Dr.  Lawton  advised  Arthur's  remaining  where  he 
was — wishing  his  patient  to  be  kept  even  from  the  excite- 
ment of  seeing  so  dear  a  relative.  Mr.  Weston  insisted 
upon  Arthur's  being  contented  with  hearing  constantly  of 
her  improvement,  both  from  himself  and  Mrs.  Weston. 
This,  Arthur  consented  to  do ;  but  in  truth  he  was  not 
aware  of  the  extent  of  the  danger  which  had  threatened 
Alice's  life,  antj  supposed  it  to  have  been  an  ordinary 
fever.  With  what  pleasure  did  he  look  forward,  in  his 
leisure  moments,  to  the  time  when  it  would  be  his  privilege 
always  to  be  near  her ;  and  to  induce  the  tedious  interval 
to  pass  more  rapidly,  he  employed  himself  with  his  studies, 
as  constantly  as  the  season  would  allow.  He  had  formed 
a  sincere  attachment  to  Abel  Johnson,  whose  fine  talents 
and  many  high  qualities  made  him  a  delightful  companion. 
Mr.  Hubbard  was  a  connection  of  young  Johnson's-,  and 
felt  privileged  often  to  intrude  himself  upon  them.  It 
really  was  an  intrusion,  for  he  had  at  present  a  severe 
attack  of  the  Abolition  fever,  and  he  could  not  talk  upon 
any 'other  subject.  This  was  often  very  disagreeable  to 
Arthur  and  his  friend,  but  still  it  became  a  frequent  sub- 
ject of  their  discussion,  when  Mr.  Hubbard  was  present, 
and  when  they  were  alone. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  warm  season  was  passing  away,  and 
Alice  did  not  recover  her  strength  as  her  friends  wished. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  177 


Nor4'  place  in  the  country  could  have  been  more  delightful 
than  Exeter  was  at  that  season;  but- still  it  seemed  neces- 
sary to  have  a  -change  of  scene.  September  had  come', 
and  it  was  too  late  to  make  their  arrangements  to  go  to 
the  Korth,  and  Alice  added  to  this  a  great  objection  to  so 
doing.  A  distant  relation  of 'Mr.  Westan,  a  very  young 
girl,  named  Ellen  Graham,  had  been  sent  for;  in  hopes  that 
her  lively  society  would  have  a  good  effect  on  Alice's  un- 
equal spirits ;  and  after  much  deliberation  it  Was  determined 
that  the  family,  with  the  exception  of  Miss  Janet,  should 
pass  the  winter  in  Washington.  Miss  Janet  could  not  be 
induced  to  go  to  that  Vanity  Fair,' as  she  called  it;  and  if 
proper  arrangements  for  her  comfort  could  not  be  made, 
the  project  would  have  to  be  given  up.  After  many  pro- 
posals, each  one  having  an  unanswerable  difficulty,  the  old 
lady  returned  from  town  one~  day*,  with  a  very  satisfied 
countenance,  having  persuaded  Mrs.  Williams,  a  widow, 
and  her  daughter,  to  pass  the  winter  at  Exeter  with  her. 
Mrs.  Williams  was  a  much  valued  friend  of  the  Weston 
family,  and  as  no  objection  could  be  found  to  this  arrange- 
ment, the  affair  was  settled.  Alice,  although  the  cause  of 
the  move,  was  the  "only  person  who  was  indifferent  onjthe 
subject.  Ellen  Graham,  young  and  gay  as  she  was,  would 
like  to  have  entered  into  any  excitement  that  would 
make  her  forget  -the  past.  She  fancied  it  would  be  for 
her  happiness,  could  the  power  of  memory  be  destroyed. 
She  had  not  sufficient  of  the  experience  of  life  to  appreciate 
the  old  man's  prayer,  "Lord,  keep  my  memory  green." 

Ellen  at  an  early  age,  and  an-  elder  brother,  were  de- 
pendent, not  for  charity,  but  for  'kindness  and  love, 
on  relatives  who  for  a  long  time  felt  their  .guardian- 
ship a  4ask.  They  were  orphans ;  they  bore  each  other 
company  in  the  many  little  cares  of  childhood;  and  the 
boy,  as  is  not  unusual  in  such  a  case,  always  looked  to  his 
sister  for  counsel  and  protection,  not  from  actual  unkind- 
ness,  but  from  coldness  and  unmerited  reproof.  They 


178  AUNT  PIHLLIS'S.  CABIN;  OR, 


never  forgot  their  parting  with  their  mother — the'  agony 
with,  which  she  held  them  to  her  bosom,  bitterly  reflecting 
they  would  have  no  such  resting-place  in  the  cold  world,  in 
which  they  were  to  struggle. 

Yet  they,  were  not  unkindly  received  at  their  future 
home.  Their  uncle  and  aunt,  standing  on  the  piazza, 
could  not  without  tears  see  the  delicate  children  in  their 
deep  mourning,  accompanied  only  by  their  aged  and  re- 
spectable colored  nurse,  raise  their  eyes  timidly,  appealing 
to  them  for  protection,  as  hand  in  hand  they  ascended  the 
steps.  It  was  a  large  and  Dreary-looking  mansion,  and 
many  years  had  passed  since  the  pictures  of  the  stiff  look- 
ing cavalier  and  his  smiling  lady,  hanging  in  the  hall,  had 
looked  down  upon  children  at  home  there.  The  echoes  of 
-their  own  voices  almost  alarmed  the  children,  "when,  after 
-resting  from  their  journey,  they  explored  the  scenes  of 
their  future  haunts.  On  the  glass  of  the  large  window  in 
the  hall,  were  the  names  of  a  maiden  and  her  lover,  de- 
scended from,  the  cavaliers  of  Virginia.  This  writing  was 
cut  with  a  diamond,  and  the  children  knew  not  that  the 
writing  was  their  parents'.  The  'little  ones  walked  care- 
fully over  the  polished  floors ;  but  .there  seemed  nothing 
in  all  they  saw  to  tell  them  they  were  welcome.  They 
lifted  the  grand  piano  that  maintained  its  station  in  one  of 
the  unoccupied  rooms  of  the  house;  but  the  keys -were  yel- 
low with  age,  and  many  of  them  soundless — wThen  at  last 
one  of  them  answered  to  the  touch  of  Ellen's  little  hand, 
it  sent  forth  such  a  ghostly  cry  that  the  two  children  gazed 
at  each  other,  not  knowing  whether  to  cry  or  to  laugh. 

Children  are  like  politicians,  not  easily  discouraged ;  and 
Ellen's  "Come  on,  Willy,"  showed  that  she,  by  no  means, 
despaired  of  finding  something  to  amuse  them.  They 
lingered  up  stairs  in  their  own  apartment^  William  point- 
ing to  the  moss-covered  rock  that  lay  at  the  foot  of  the 
garden. 

."Willy,  Willy,  come !  here  is  something,"  and  Willy  fol- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT  IS*.  179 


lowed  her  through  a  long  passage  into  a  room,  lighted  only 
by  the  rays  that  found  entrance  through  a  broken  shutter. 
"  Only  see  this,"  she  continued,  laying  her  hand  on  a  crib 
burdened  with  a  small  mattress  and  pillow ;  "here .too,"  and 
she  pointed  to  a  little  child's  hat  that  hung  Over  it,  from 
which  drooped  three  small  plumes.  "Whose  can  they 
be?" 

"  Come  out  o'  here,  children,"  said  the  nurse,  who  had 
been  seeking  them.  "  Your  aunt  told  me  not  to  let  you -come 
into  this  part  of  the  house  ;  this  was  her  nursery  once,  and 
her  only  child  died  here." 

The  children  followed  their  nurse,  and  evef  afterward 
the  thought  of  death  was  connected  with  that  part  of  the 
house.  Often  as  they  looked  in  their  ^uirt's  face  they 
remembered  the  empty  crib  and  the  drooping  plumes. 

Time  does  not  always  fly  with  youth  ;  yet  it  passed 
along  until  Ellen  had  attained  her  sixteenth  year,  and 
William  his  eighteenth  year.  Ellen'  shared  all-  her 
brother's  studies,  and  their  excellent  tutor  scored  their 
minds  with  useful  information.  Their  uncle  superintended 
their  education,  with  the  determination  that  it'  should  be 
a  thorough  one.  William  did  not  intend  studying  a  pro- 
fession ;  his  father's  will  allowed  him  to  decide  between 
this,  or  assuming,  at  an  early  age,  the  care  of  his  large 
estate,  with  suitable  advisers.  - 

Ellen  made  excellent  progress-  in  all  her  studies.  Her 
aunt  was  anxious  she  should  learn  music,  and  wished  her 
to  go  to  Richmond  or  to  Alexandria  for  that  purpose,  but 
Ellen  begged  off;  she  thought  of  the  old  piano  and  its 
cracked  keys,  and  desired  not  to  be  separated  from  her 
brother,  professing  her  dislike  to  any  music,  but  her  old 
nurse's  Methodist  hymns.  • 

William  was  tall  and  athletic  for  his  "age,  passionate 
when  roused  by  harshness  or  injustice,  but  otherwise  affec- 
tionate in  his  disposition,  idolizing  his  sister.  His  uncle 
looked  at  him  with  surprise  when  he  saw  him  assume  the 


180  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OK, 


independence  of  manner,  which  eat  well  upon  him ;  and 
his  a.unt  sometimes  checked  herself,  when  about  to  re- 
prove him  for  the  omission  of  some  unimportant  form  of 
politeness,  which  in  her  days  of  youth  was  essential. 
Ellen  dwelt  with  delight  upon  the  approaching  time,  when 
she  would  be  mistress  of  her  brother's  establishment,  and 
as  important  as  she  longed  to  be,  on  that  account.  Though 
she  looked  upon  her  uncle's  house  as  a  large  cage,  in 
which  she  had  long  fluttered  a  prisoner,  she  could  not  but 
feel  an  affection  for  it ;  her  aunt  and  uncle  often  formal, 
and  uselessly  particular,  were  always  substantially  kind. 
It  was  a  good,  though  not  a  cheerful  home,  and  the  young 
look  for- joy  and  gaiety,  as  do  the  flowers  for  birds  and 
eunshine.  Ell-en  was  to  be  a  ward -of  her  uncle's  until  she 
was  of  age,  but  was  to  be  permitted  to  reside  with  her 
brother,  .if  she  wished,  from  the  time  he  assumed  the 
management  of  his  estate. 

The  young,  people; kid  many  plans  for  housekeeping. 
William  had  not.  any  love  affair  in  progress,  and  as  yet, 
his  sister's  image  was  stamped  on  all  his  projects  for  the 
future. 

Two  years  before  Ellen  came  to  Exeter,  William  stood 
under  his  sister's  window,  asking  her  what  he  should  bring 

her  from  C ,  tha  neighboring  town.  ".Don't  you  want 

some  needles,"  he  said,  "or  a  waist  ribbon,  or  some  candy? 
make  haste,  Ellen ;  if  I  don't  hurry,  I  can't  come  home 
to-night." 

"I  don't  want  any  thing,  WilKe;  but  will  you -be  sure 
to  .return  tor-night  ?  •  I  never  sleep  well  when  you  are 

away.  Aunt  and  I  are  going  on  Tuesday'to  C ;  wait, 

and  we  will  stay  all  night  then." 

«  Oh,  no,"  said  William,  » I  must  go  ;  but  you  may  de- 
pend upon  my  being  back:  I  always-1  keep  my  promises. 
So  good-by."  »  . 

Ellen  leaned  from  the  window,  watching  her  handsome 
brother  as  he  rode  down  the  avenue  leading  into  the  road. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE 'AS   IT   IS.  181 

He  turned  in  his  saddle,  and  bowed  to  her,  just  before  he 
passed  from  her  sight. 

"  Oh,  mammy,"  she  said  to  he?  attendant,  for  she  had 
always  thus  affectionately  addressed  her;  "did  you  ever 
see  any  one  as  iiandsome  as  Willie  ?" 

"Yes,  child,"  she  replied,  "his  father  was,  before  him. 
You  both  look  like  your  father;^ but  Master  Willie  favors 
him  more  than  you  do.  Shut  down  the  window,  Miss 
Ellen,  don't  you  feel  the  wind  ?  A  strong  March  wind  arint 
good  for  nobody.  Its  bright  enough  overhead  to-day,  but 
the  ground  is  mighty  damp  and  •  chilly  f  There,  you're 
sneezin ;  didn't  I  tell  you  so?" 

Late  in  the  same  day  Ellen  was  seated  at  the  window, 
watching  her  brother's  return  ;  gaily  watching,  until  the 
shadows  of  evening  were  resting  on  his  favorite  rocks. 
Then  she  watched  anxiously  until  the  rocks  could  no  longer 
be  seen ;  but  never  did  he  come  again,  though  hope  and 
expectation  lingered  about  her  heart  until  despair  rested 
there  in  their  place. 

William  was  starting  on  horseback,  after  an  early  din- 
ner at  the  tavern  in  G -.  As  he  put  his  foot  in  the 

stirrups,  an  old  'farmer,  who  had  just  driven  his  large  co- 
vered wagon  to  the -door,  called  to  him. 

"You  going  home,  Mr.  William?"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  I  am ;  but  why  do  you  ask  me  ?" 

"Why,  how  are  you  going'  to  cross  Willow's  Creek?" 
asked  the  old  man. 

"On  the  bridge,"  said  William,  laughing;  "did  you 
think  I  was  going  to  jump  my  horse  across  ?" 

"No,  but  you  can't  cross  the  bridge,"  said  the  farmer, 
"  for  the  bridge  is  broken  down."' 

".Why,  I  crossed  it  early  this  morning,"  said  William. 

"  So  did  I,"  said  the  farmer,  "and,  thank  God,  I  and 
my  team  did  not  go  down  with  it.  But  there's  been  a 
mighty  freshet .  above,  and  Willow's  Creek  is  something 
like  my  wife — she's  an  angel  when  she  aint  disturbed,  but 

16 


182  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


she's  the  devil  himself  when  any  thing  puts  her  out.  Now, 
you  take  my  advice,  and  stay  here  to-night,  or  at  any  rate 
don't  get  yourself  into  danger." 

"I  must  go  home  to-night,"  said  William;  "I  have 
promised  my  sister  to  do  so.  I  can  ford  the  creek ;"  and 
he  prepared  again  to  start. 

"  Stop,  young  man,"  said  the  farmer,  solemnly,  "you 
mind  the  old  saying,  <•  Young  people  think  old  people  fools, 
but  old  people  know  young  people  are  fools.'  I  warn 
you  not  to  try  and  ford  that  -creek  to-night ;  you  might 
as  well  put  your  head  in  a  lion's  mouth.  Havn't  I  been 
crossing  it  these  fifty  years?  and  aint  I  up  to  -all  its 
freaks  and  ways?  Sometimes  it  is  as  quiet  as  a  weaned 
baby,  but  now  it  is  foaming  and  lashing,  as  a  tiger  after 
prey.  You'd  better  disappoint  Miss  Ellen  for  one  night, 
than  to  bring  a  whole  lifetime  of  trouble  upon  her.  Don't 
be  foolhardy,  now ;  your  horse  can't  carry  you  safely  over 
Willow's  Creek  this  night." 

"Never  fear,  farmer,"  said  William.  "I  can  take  care 
of  myself." 

"May  the  Lord  take  care  of  you,"  said  the  farmer,  as 
he  followed  the  youth,  dashing  through  the  town  on  his 
spirited  horse.  "  If  it  were  not  for  this  wagon-load,  and 
there  are  so  many  to  be  clothed  and  fed  at  home,  I  would 
follow  you,  but  I  can't  do  it." 

William  rode,  rapidly  homeward.  The  noonday  being 
long  passed,  the  skies  were  clouding  over,  and  harsh 
spring  winds  were  -playing  through  the  woods. 

William  enjoyed  such  rides.  Healthy,  and  fearing 
nothing,  he  was  a  stranger  to  a  feeling  of  loneliness. 
Alternately  singing  an  old  air,  and  then  whistling  with 
notes  as  clear  and  musical  as  a  flute,  he  at  last  came  in 
sight  of  the  creek  which  had  been  so-  tranquil  when  he 
crossed  it  in  the  morning.  There  was  an  old  house  near, 
where  lived  the  people  who  received  the  toll.  A  man  and 
his  wife,  with  a  large  family  of  children,  poor  people's  in- 


SOUTHERN    LIFE  -AS   IT   IS.  183 


heritance,  had  long  made  this  place  their  home,  and  they 
were  acquainted  with  all  the  persons  who  were  in  the 
habit  of  traveling  this  way. 

William,  whom  they  saw  almost  daily,  was  a  great  favo- 
rite with  the  children.  Not  only  did  he  pay  his  toll,  but 
many  a  penny  and  sixpence  to  the  small  folks  besides,  and 
he  was  accustomed  to  receive  a  welcome. 

Now  the  house  was  shut  up.  It  had  rained  frequently 
and  heavily  during  the  month,  and  the  bright  morning, 
which  had  tempted  the  children  out  to  play,  was  gone,  and 
they  had  gathered  in  the  old  house  to  amuse  themselves 
as  they  could. 

The  bridge  had  been  partly  carried  away  by  the  freshet. 
Some  of  the  beams  were  still  swinging  and  swaying  them- 
selves with  restless  motion.  The  creek  was  swollen  to  a 
torrent.  The  waters  dashed  against  its  sides,  in  their 
haste  to  go  their  way.  The  wind,  too,  howled  mournfully, 
and  the  old  trees  bent  to  and  fro,  nodding- their  stately 
heads,  and  rustling  their  branches  against  each  other. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  William,  is  it  you?"  said  the  woman,  open- 
ing the  door.  "  Get  off  your  horse,  and  come  in  and  rest; 
you  can't  go  home  to-night." 

'"Yes,  I  can  though,"  said  William,  "I  have  often 
forded  the  creek,  and  though  I  never  saw  it  as  it  is  now, 
yet  I  can  get  safely  over  it,  I  am  sure." 

"Don't  talk  of  such  things,  for  the  Lord's  sake," 
said  Mrs.  Jones.  "  Why,  my  husband  could  not  ford  the 
creek  now,  and  you're  a  mere  boy." 

"No  matter  for,  that,"  said  William.  «  I  promised  my 
sister  fo  be  at  home  to-night,  and  I  must  keep  my  word. 
See  how  narrow  the  creek  is  here !  Good-by,  I  cannot 
wait  any  longer,  it  is  getting  dark:" 

"Don't  try  it,  please  don't,  Mr. "William,"  again  said 
Mrs.  Jones.  All  the  children  joined  her,  some  entreating 
William,  others  crying  out  at  the  danger  into  which  their 
favorite  was  rushing. 


184  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OR, 


"Why,  you  cowards,"  cried  William,  "you  make  more 
noise  than  the  creek  itself.  Here's  something  .for  ginger- 
bread." None  of  the  children  offered  to  pick  up  the 
money  which  fell  among  them,  but  looked  anxiously  after 
William,  to  see  what  he  was  going  to  do. 

" Mr.  William,"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "  come  back;  look 
at  the  water  a  roaring  and  tossing,  and  your  horse  is  rest- 
less already  with  the  noise.  Don't  throw  your  life  away ; 
think  of  your  sister." 

"  I'm  thinking  of  her,  good  Mrs.  Jones.  Never  fear  for 
me,"  said  he,  looking  back  at  her  with  a  smile,  at  the  same 
time  urging  his  horse  toward  the  edge  of  the  creek,  where 
there  was  a -gradual  descent  from  the  hill. 

As  Mrs.  Jones  had  said,  the  horse  had  already  become 
restless,  he  was  impatiently  moving  his  head,  prancing  and 
striking  his  hoofs  against  the  hard  ground.  William  re- 
strained him,  as  he  too  quickly  descended  the  path,  and  it 
may  be  the  young  man  then  hesitated,  as  he  endeavored 
to  check  him,  but  it  was  too  late.  The  very  check  ren- 
dered him  more  impatient ;  springing  aside  from  the  path 
he  dashed  himself  from  rock  to  rock.  William  saw  his 
danger,  and  with  a  steady  hand  endeavored  to  control 
the  frightened  animal.  This  unequal  contest  was  soon  de- 
cided. The  nearer  the  horse  jcame  to. the  water  the  more 
he  was  alarmed, — at  last  lie  sprang  from  the  rock,  and  he 
and  his  rider  disappeared. 

"  Oh^  my  God!"  said  Mrs.  Jones,  "he  is  gone.  The 
poor  boy;  and  there  is  no  one  to  help  him."  -  She  ^at  first 
hid  her  eyes  from  the  appalling  scene,  and  then  approached 
the  creek  and  screamed  as  she  saw  the  horse  struggling 
and  plunging,  while  William  manfully  tried  to  control  him. 
Oh !  how  beat  her  heart,  as  with  uplifted  hands,  and 
stayed  breath,  she  watched  for  the  issue — it  is  over  now. 

"Hush!  hush!  children,"  said  their  mother,  pale  as 
death,  whose  triumph  she  had  just  witnessed.  "Oh!  if 
your  father  had  been  here  to  have  saved  him — but  who 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  185 


could  have  saved  him?  None  but  thou,  Almighty  God!" 
and  she  kneeled  to  pray  for,  she  knew  not  what. 

"  Too  late,  too  late !"  yet  she  knelt  and  alternately 
prayed  and  wept. 

Again  she  gazed  into  the  noisy  waters — but  there  was 
nothing  there,  and  then  calling  her  frightened  and  weep- 
ing children  into  the  house,  she  determined  to  set  forth 

alone,  for  assistance — for  what  ? 

*****  *  * 

Oh !  how  long  was  that  night  to  Ellen,  though  she  be- 
lieved her  brother  remained  at  C .  She  did  not  sleep 

till  late,  and  sad  the  awakening.  Voices  in  anxious  whis- 
pers fell  upon  her  ear ;  pale  faces  and  weeping  eyes,  were 
everywhere  around  her — within,  confusion ;  and  useless 
effort  without.  Her  uncle  wept  as  for  an  only  son ;  her 
aunt  then  felt  how  tenderly  she  had  loved  him,  who  was 
gone  forever.  The  farmer,  who  .had  warned  him  at  the 
tavern-door,  smote  his  breast- when  he  heard  his  sad  fore- 
bodings were  realized.  The  young  and  the  old,  the  rich 
and  the  poor,  assembled  for  days  about  the  .banks  of  the 
creek,  with  the  hopes  of  recovering  the  body,  but  the 
young  rider  and  his  horse  were  never  seen  again.  Ah ! 
Ellen  was  an  orphan  now — father,  mother,  and  friend  had 
he  been  to  her,  the  lost  one.  Often  did  she  lay  her  head 
on  the  kind  breast  of  their  old  nurse,  and  pray  for 
death. 

As  far  as  was  in  their  power,  her  uncle  and  aunt  soothed 
her  in  her  grief.  But  the  only  real  comfort  at  such  a 
time,  is  that  from-  Heaven,  and  Ellen  knew  not  that.  How 
could  she  have  reposed  had  she  felt  the  protection  of  the 
Everlasting  Arms  ! 

But  time,  though  it  does-not  always  heal,  must  assuage 
the  intensity  of  grief;  the  first  year  passed  after  William's 
death,  and  Ellen  felt  a  wish  for  other  scenes  than  those 
where  she  had  been  accustomed  to  see  him.  She  had  now 
little  to  which  she  could  look  forward. 

16* 


186  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


Her  chief  amusement  was  in  retiring  to  the  library,  and 
reading  old  romances,  with  which  its  upper  shelves  were 
filled ;  this,  under  other  circumstances,  her  aunt  would  have 
forbidden,  but  it  was  a  relief  to  see  Ellen  interested  in 
any  thing,  and  she  appeared  not  to  observe  her  thus  em- 
ploying herself. 

So  Ellen  gradually  returned  to  the  old  ways ;  she  stu- 
died a  little,  and  assisted  her  industrious  aunt  in  her  nu- 
merous occupations.  As  of  old,  her  aunt  saw  her  restless- 
ness of  disposition,  and  Ellen  felt  rebellious  and  irritable. 
With  what  an  unexpected  delight,  then,  did  she  receive 
from  her  aunt's  hands,  the  letters  from  Mrs.  Weston,  in- 
viting her  to  come  at  once  to  Exeter,  and  then  to  accom- 
pany them  to  Washington.  She,  without  any  difficulty, 
obtained  .the  necessary  permission,  and  joyfully  wrote  to 
Mrs.  Weston,  how  gladly  she  would  accept  the  kind  invi- 
tation. 


SOUTHERN  LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  187 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

THERE  was  an  ancient  enmity  between  Jupiter  and 
Bacchus.  While  -the  former  was  always  quiet  when  Phillis 
came  to  see  his  mistress  during  her  life,  Bacchus  never 
went  near  him  without  his  displaying  symptoms  of  the 
greatest  irritation ;  his  back  was  invariably  raised,  and 
his  claws  spread  out  ready  for  an  attack  on  the  slightest 
provocation.  Phillis  found  it  impossible  to  induce  the  cat 
to  remain  away  from  Aunt  Peggy's  house ;  he  would 
stand  on  the  door-step,  and  make  the  most  appalling  noises, 
fly  into  the  windows,  scratch  against  the  panes,  and  if 
any  children  approached  him  to  try  and  coax  him  away, 
he  would  fly  at  them,  sending  them  off  in  a  disabled  con- 
dition. Phillis  was  obliged  to  go  backward  and  forward 
putting  him  into  the  house  and  letting  him  out  again.  This 
was  a  good  deal  of  trouble,  and  his  savage  mood  continu- 
ing, the  servants  were  unwilling  to  pass  him,  declaring 
he  was  a  good  deal  worse  than  Aunt  Peggy  had  ever  been. 
Finally,  a  superstitious  feeling  got  among  them,  that  he 
was  connected  in  some  way  with  his  dead  mistress,  and  a 
thousand  absurd  stories  were  raised  in  consequence.  Mr. 
Weston  told  Bacchus  that  he'  was  so  fierce  that  he  might 
do  some  real  mischief,  so  that  he  had  better  be  caught  and 
drowned.  The  catching  was  a  matter  of  some  moment, 
but  Phillis  seduced  him  into  a  bag  by  putting  a  piece  of 
meat  inside  and  then  dexterously  catching  up  the  bag  and 
drawing  the  string.  It  was  impossible  to  hold  him  in, 
so  Bacchus  fastened  the  bag  to  the  wheelbarrow,  and 
after  a  good  deal  of  difficulty,  he  got  him  down  to  the 
river  under  the  bridge,  and  threw  him  in.  He  told  Phillis 
when  he  got  home,  that  he  felt  now  for  the  first  time  as  if 


188  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR. 


Aunt  Peggy  was  really  dead,  and  they  all  might  hope  for 
a  little  comfort.  Twenty-four  hours  after,  however,  just 
as  the  moon  was  rising,  Bacchus  was  taken  completely 
by  surprise,  for  Jupiter  passed  him  with  his  back  raised, 
and  proceeded  to  the  door  of  his  old  residence,  com- 
mencing immediately  a  most  vociferous  demand  to  be  ad- 
mitted. 

Bacchus  was  speechless  for  some  moments,  but  at  last 
made  out  to  call  Phillis,  who  came  to  the  door  to  see 
what  was  the  trouble.  "Look  thar,"  said  he,  "you  want 
to  make  me  b'lieve  that  aint  ole  Aunt  Peggy's  wraith — 
ground  can't  hold  her,  water  can't  hold  him — why  I 
drowned  him  deep — how  you  'spose  he  got  out  of  that 
bag?" 

Phillis  could  not  help  laughing.  "Well,  I  never  did 
see  the  like — the  cat  has  scratched  through  the  bag  and 
swam  ashore." 

"  I  b'lieves  you,"  said  Bacchus,  "and  if  you  had  throw'd 
him  into  the  fire,  he  wouldn't  a  got  burned  ;  but  I  tell  you, 
no  cat's  a  gwine  to  get  the  better  of  me — I'll  kill  Jupiter, 
yet." 

Phillis,  not  wanting  the  people  aroused,  got  the  key,  and 
unlocked  the  door,  Jupiter  sprang  in,  and  took  up  his  old 
quarters  on  the  hearth,  where  he  was  quiet  for  the  night. 
In  the  morning  she  carried  some  bread  and  milk  to  him, 
and  told  Bacchus  not  to  say  any  thing  about  his  coming 
back  to  any  one,  and  that  after  she  came  home  from  town, 
where  she  was  going  on  business  for  Mrs.  Weston,  they 
would  determine  what  they  would  do.  But  Bacchus  se- 
cretly resolved  to  have  the  affair  settled  before  Phillis 
should  return,  that  the  whole  glory  of  having  conquered 
an  enemy  should  belong  to  him. 

Phillis  was  going  on  a  number  of  errands  to  L , 

and  she  expected  to  be  detained  all  day,  for  she  understood 
shopping  to  perfection,  and  she  went  charged  with  all  sorts 
of  commissions ;  besides,  she  had  to  stop  to  see  one  or  two 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  189 


sick  old  colored  ladies  of  her  acquaintance,  and  she  told 
Mrs.  Weston  she  might  as  well  make  a  day  of  it.  Thus  it 
was  quite  evening  when  she  got  home — found  every  thing 
had  been  well  attended  to,  children  in  bed,  but  Bacchus 
among  the  missing,  though  he  had  promised  her  he  would 
not  leave  the  premises  until  her  return. 

Now,  if  there  is  a  severe  trial  on  this  earth,  it  is  for  a 
wife  (of  any  color)  who  rarely  leaves  home, — to  return  after 
a  day  of  business  and  pleasure,  having  spent  all  the  money 
she  could  lay  her  hands  on,  having  dined  with  one  friend 
and  taken  a  dish  of  tea  and  gossiped  with  another — 
to  return,  hoping  to  see  every  thing  as  she  expected, 
and  to  experience  the  bitter  disappointment  of  finding  her 
husband  gone  out  in  spite  of  the  most  solemn  asseverations 
to  the  contrary.  Who  could  expect  a  woman  to  preserve 
her  composure  under  such  circumstances  ? 

Poor  Phillis !  she  was  in  such  spirits  as  she  came  home. 
How  pretty  the  flowers  look  !  She  thought,  after  all,  if  I  ^ 
am  a  slave,  the  Lord  is  mighty  good  to  me.  I  have  a  com- 
fortable home,  and  a  good  set  of  children,  and  my  old  man 
has  done  so  much  better  of  late — Phillis  felt  really  happy ; 
and  when  she  went  in,  and  delivered  all  her  parcels  to  the  i 
ladies,  and  was  congratulated  on  her  success  in  getting 
precisely  the  desired  articles,  her  heart  was  as  light  as  a 
feather.  She  thought  she  would  go  and  see  how  all  went 
on  at  home,  and  then  come  back  to  the  kitchen  and  drink 
a  cup  of  good  tea,  for  the  family  had  just  got  through  with 
theirs. 

What  a  disappointment,  then,  to  find  any  thing  going 
wrong.  It  was  not  that  Bacchus's  society  was  so  entirely 
necessary  to  her,  but  the  idea  of  his  having  started  on 
another  spree.  The  fear  of  his  being  brought  home  some- 
time to  her  dead,  came  over  her  with  unusual  force,  and 
she  actually  burst  into  tears.  She  had  been  so  very  happy 
a  few  minutes  before,  that  she  could  not,  with  her  usual 
calmness,  make  the  best  of  every  thing.  She  forgot  all 


190  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


about  the  pleasant  day  she  had  passed;  lost  her  wish 
for  a  cup  of  tea ;  and  passing  even  her  pipe  by,  with  a 
full  heart  she  took  her  seat  to  rest  at  the  door.  For  some 
time  every  thing  seemed  to  go  wrong  with  her.  All  at 
once  she  found  out  how  tired  she  was.  Her  limbs  ached, 
and  her  arm  hurt  her,  where  she  had  carried  the  basket. 
She  had  a  great  many  troubles.  She  had  to  work  hard. 
She  had  more  children  than  anybody  else  to  bother  her ; 
and  when  she  thought  of  Bacchus  she  felt  very  angry. 
He  might  as  well  kill  himself  drinking,  at  once,  for  he 
was  nothing  but  a  care  and  disgrace  to  her — had  always 
been  so,  and  most  likely  would  be  so  until  they  were  both 
under  the  ground. 

But  this  state  of  mind  could  not  last  long.  A  little 
quiet,  rest,  and  thought,  had  a  good  effect.  She  soon  began 
again  to  look  at  the  bright  side  of  things,  and  to  be 
ashamed  of  her  murmuring  spirit.  "  Sure  enough  he  has 
kept  very  sober  of  late,  and  I  can't  expect  him  to  give  it 
up  entirely,  all  of  a  sudden.  I  must  be  patient,  and  go 
on  praying  for  him."  She  thought  with  great  pity  of  him, 
and  her  heart  being  thus  subdued,  her  mind  gradually 
turned  to  other  things. 

She  looked  at  Aunt  Peggy's  house,  and  wondered  if  the 
old  woman  was  better  off  in  another  world  than  she  was 
in  this  ;  but  she  checked  the  forbidden  speculation.  And 
next  she  thought  of  Jupiter,  and  with  this  recollection 
came  another  remembrance  of  Bacchus  and  his  antipathy 
both  to  the  mistress  and  her  cat.  All  at  once  she  recalled 
Bacchus's  determination  to  kill  Jupiter,  and  the  strange 
ferocity  the  animal  evinced  whenever  Bacchus  went  near 
him ;  and  she  got  up  to  take  the  key  and  survey  the  state 
of  things  at  the  deserted  house.  There  was  no  key  to  be 
found ;  and  concluding  some  one  had  been  after  Jupiter, 
she  no  longer  delayed  her  intention  of  finding  out  what 
had  occurred  in  that  direction.  She  found  the  key  in  the 
door,  but  every  thing  was  silent.  With  some  caution  she 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  191 


opened  it,  remembering  Jupiter's  last  unexpected  onset ; 
when,  looking  round  by  the  dim  light,  she  perceived  him 
seated  opposite  Aunt  Peggy's  big  chest,  evidently  watch- 
ing it.  On  hearing  the  door  open,  though,  he  got  up  and 
raised  his  back,  on  the  defensive. 

Phillis,  having  an  indefinable  feeling  that  Bacchus  was 
somehow  or  other  connected  with  the  said  elevation,  looked 
carefully  round  the  room,  but  saw  nothing.  Gradually 
the  chest  lid  opened  a  little  way,  and  a  sepulchral  voice, 
issuing  from  it,  uttered  in  a  low  tone  these  words : 

"Phillis,  gal,  is  that  you?" 

The  cat  looked  ready  to  spring,  and  the  chest  lid  sud- 
denly closed  again.  But  while  Phillis  was  recovering 
herself  the  lid  was  cautiously  opened,  and  Bacchus's  eyes 
glaring  through  the  aperture.  The  words  were  repeated. 

"Why,  what  on  earth?"  said  the  astonished  woman : 
"  Surely,  is  that  you,  Bacchus?" 

"It  is,  surely,"  said  Bacchus;  "but  put  that  devil  of  a 
tiger  out  of  de  room,  if  you  don't  want  me  to  die  dis 
minute." 

Phillis's  presence  always  had  an  imposing  effect  upon 
Jupiter ;  and  as  she  opened  the  door  to  the  other  room, 
and  called  him  in,  he  followed  her  without  any  hesitation. 

She  shut  him  in,  and  then  hurried  back  to  lift  up  the 
chest  lid,  to  release  her  better  half. 

"Why,  how,"  said  she,  as  Bacchus,  in  a  most  cramped 
condition  endeavored  to  raise  himself,  "  did  the  lid  fall 
on  you?" 

"No,"  groaned  Bacchus.  "Are  you  sure  de  middle 
door's  shut.  Let  me  git  out  o'  dis  place  quick  as  possible, 
for  since  ole  Peggy  left,  de  ole  boy  hisself  has  taken  up  his 
'bode  here.  'Pears  as  if  I  never  should  git  straight  agin." 

"  Why,  look  at  your  face,  Bacchus,"  said  his  wife.  "Did 
Jupiter  scratch  you  up  that  way." 

"  Didn't  he  though  ?  Wait  till  I  gits  out  of  reach  of 
his  claws,  and  I'll  tell  you  about  it;"  and  they  both  went 


192  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


out,  Phillis  locking  the  door  to  keep  Jupiter  quiet,  that 
night  at  least.  After  having  washed  the  blood  off  his  face 
and  hands,  and  surveyed  himself  with  a  dismal  countenance 
in  the  looking-glass,  Bacchus  proceeded  to  give  an  account 
of  his  adventure. 

After  dinner  he  thought  he  would  secure  Jupiter,  and 
have  him  effectually  done  for  before  Phillis  came  back.  He 
mustered  up  all  his  courage,  and  unlocking  the  house,  de- 
termined to  catch  and  tie  him,  then  decide  on  a  mode  of 
death  that  would  be  effectual.  He  had  heard  some  officers 
from  Mexico  describe  the  use  of  the  lasso,  and  it  occurred 
to  him  to  entrap  Jupiter  in  this  scientific  manner.  But 
Jupiter  was  an  old  bird ;  he  was  not  to  be  caught  with 
chaff.  Bacchus' s  lasso  failed  altogether,  and  very  soon  the 
cat  became  so  enraged  that  Bacchus  was  obliged  to  take  a 
three-legged  stool,  and  act  on  the  defensive.  He  held  the 
stool  before  his  face,  and  when  Jupiter  made  a  spring  at 
him,  he  dodged  against  him  with  it.  Two  or  three  blows 
excited  Jupiter's  anger  to  frenzy,  and  after  several  ef- 
forts he  succeeded  in  clawing  Bacchus's  face  in  the  most 
dreadful  manner,  so  that  it  was  with  the  greatest  difficulty 
he  could  clear  himself.  Desperate  with  pain  and  fright, 
he  looked  for  some  way  of  escape.  The  door  was  shut,  and 
Jupiter,  who  seemed  to  be  preparing  for  another  attack, 
was  between  him  and  it.  He  had  but  one  resource,  and 
that  was  to  spring  into  Aunt  Peggy's  great  chest,  and  close 
the  lid  to  protect  himself  from  another  assault. 

Occasionally,  when  nearly  suffocated,  he  would  raise  the 
lid  to  breathe,  but  Jupiter  immediately  flew  at  him  in  such 
a  furious  manner,  that  he  saw  it  would  be  at  the  risk  of 
his  life  to  attempt  to  escape,  and  he  was  obliged  to  bide 
his  time.  What  his  meditations  were  upon  while  in  the 
chest,  would  be  hard  to  decide ;  but  when  once  more  pro- 
tected by  the  shadow  of  his  own  roof,  he  vowed  Jupiter 
should  die,  and  be  cut  in  pieces  before  he  was  done  with 
him. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  193 

Phillis  went  to  Miss  Janet,  and  gave  her  an  account  of 
the  whole  affair,  with  Bacchus's  permission,  and  the  kind 
old  lady  came  to  him  with  some  healing  ointment  of  her 
own  manufacture,  and  anointed  his  wounds. 

William  was  sent  for ;  and  the  result  of  the  discussion 
was,  that  he  and  his  father  should,  early  next  morning, 
shoot  the  much  dreaded  cat  effectually. 

This  resolution  was  carried  into  effect  in  the  following 
manner.  Phillis  went  a  little  in  advance  with  a  large 
bowl  of  bread  and  milk,  and  enticed  Jupiter  to  the  hearth. 
As  he  was  very  hungry,  he  did  not  perceive  William  en- 
tering with  a  very  long  gun  in  his  hand,  nor  even  Bacchus, 
his  ancient  enemy,  with  a  piece  of  sticking-plaster  down 
his  nose  and  across  his  forehead. 

William  was  quite  a  sportsman.  He  went  through  all 
the  necessary  formalities.  Bacchus  gave  the  word  of  com- 
mand in  a  low  voice :  Make  ready,  take  aim,  fire — bang, 
and  William  discharged  a  shower  of  shot  into  Jupiter's 
back  and  sides.  He  gave  one  spring,  and  all  was  over, 
Bacchus  looking  on  with  intense  delight. 

As  in  the  case  of  Aunt  Peggy,  now  that  his  enemy  was 
no  more,  Bacchus  became  very  magnanimous.  He  said 
Jupiter  had  been  a  faithful  old  animal,  though  mighty 
queer  sometimes,  and  he  believed  the  death  of  Aunt  Peggy 
had  set  him  crazy,  therefore  he  forgave  him  for  the  con- 
dition in  which  he  had  put  his  face,  and  should  lay  him 
by  his  mistress  at  the  burial-ground.  Lydia  begged  an  old 
candle-box  of  Miss  e  Janet,  for  a  coffin,  and  assisted  her 
father*in  the  other  funeral  arrangements.  With  a  secret 
satisfaction  and  a  solemn  air,  Bacchus  carried  off  the  box, 
followed  by  a  number  of  black  children,  that  Lydia  had 
invited  to  the  funeral.  They  watched  Bacchus  with  great 
attention  while  he  completed  his  work,  and  the  whole  party 
returned  under  the  impression  that  Aunt  Peggy  and  Jupi- 
ter were  perfectly  satisfied  with  the  morning's  transactions. 

17 


194  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OB, 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THE  time  had  come  to  leave  home,  and  the  "Westons  had 
but  one  more  evening.  Neither  Mr.  Weston  nor  Alice 
were  well,  and  all  hoped  the  change  would  benefit  them. 
They  were  to  travel  in  their  own  carriage,  and  the  pre- 
parations were  completed.  The  three  ladies'  maids  were 
to  go  by  the  stage.  Miss  Janet  had  a  number  of  things 
stowed  away  in  the  carriage,  which  she  thought  might  be 
useful,  not  forgetting  materials  for  a  lunch,  and  a  little  of 
her  own  home-made  lavender,  in  case  of  a  headache.  The 
pleasure  of  going  was  very  much  lessened  by  the  necessity 
of  leaving  the  dear  old  lady,  who  would  not  listen  to  their 
entreaties  to  accompany  them.  "  You,  with  your  smooth 
cheeks  and  bright  eyes,  may  well  think  of  passing  a  winter 
in  Washington ;  but  what  should  I  do  there  ?  Why,  the 
people  would  say  I  had  lost  my  senses.  No,  we  three  la- 
dies will  have  a  nice  quiet  time  at  Exeter,  and  I  can  go  on 
with  my  quilting  and  patchwork.  You  see,  Miss  Alice, 
that  you  come  back  with  red  cheeks.  The  birds  and  the 
flowers  will  be  glad  to  see  you  again  wThen  the  spring 
comes." 

"Ring  the  bell,  Alice,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "I  must 
know  how  Mr.  Mason's  little  boy  is.  I  sent  Mark  shortly 
after  dinner;  but  here  he  is.  Well,  Mark,  I  hope  the 
little  fellow  is  getting  well?" 

"He  is  receasedj  sir,"  said  Mark,  solemnly. 

"He  is  what?"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "Oh!  ah!  he  is 
dead — I  understand  you.  Well,  I  am  truly  sorry  for  it. 
When  did  he  die?" 

"Early  this  morning,  sir,"  said  Mark.  "Have  you  any 
more  orders  to  give,  sir  ?  for  as  I  am  to  be  up  mighty  early 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  195 


in  the  morning,  I  was  thinking  of  going  to  bed  when  you 
are  done  with  me." 

"Nothing  more,"  said  Mr.  Weston;  and  Mark  retired. 

"Mark,"  continued  Mr.  Weston,  "has  the  greatest  pro- 
pensity for  using  hard  words.  His  receased  means  de- 
ceased. He  was  excessively  angry  with  Bacchus  the  other 
day  for  interfering  with  him  about  the  horses.  <•  Nobody,' 
said  he,  <  can  stand  that  old  fellow's  airs.  He's  got  so  full 
of  tomposity,  that  he  makes  himself  disagreeable  to  every- 
body.' By  Pomposity,  I  suppose  you  all  know  he  meant 
pomposity.  Bacchus  is  elated  at  the  idea  of  going  with 
us.  I  hope  I  shall  not  have  any  trouble  with  him." 

"Oh!  no,  uncle,"  said  Alice;  "he  is  a  good  old  fellow, 
and  looks  so  aristocratic  with  his  gray  hair  and  elegant 
bows.  Ellen  and  I  will  have  to  take  him  as  a  beau  when 
you  are  out.  Aunt  Phillis  says,  that  he  has  promised  her 
not  to  drink  a  drop  of  any  thing  but  water,  and  she  seems 
to  think  that  he  has  been  so  sober  lately  that  he  will  keep 
his  word." 

"It  is  very  doubtful,"  said  Mr.  Weston;  "but  the  fact 
is  he  would  be  troublesome  with  his  airs  and  his  tomposity 
were  I  to  leave  him;  so  I  have  no  choice." 

"  Dear  Alice,"  said  Ellen,  fixing  her  large  dark  eyes  on 
her;  "how  can  I  ever  be  grateful  enough  to  you?" 

"For  what?"  asked  Alice. 

"  For  getting  sick,  and  requiring  change  of  air,  which  is 
the  first  cause  of  my  being  here  on  my  way  to  the  great 
metropolis.  Whoever  likes  a  plantation  life  is  welcome  to 
it ;  but  I  am  heartily  sick  of  it.  Indeed,  Miss  Janet,  good 
as  you  are,  you  could  not  stand  it  at  uncle's.  Ten  miles 
from  a  neighbor — just  consider  it!  Uncle  disapproves 
of  campmeetings  and  barbecues;  and  aunt  is  sewing 
from  morning  till  night;  while  I  am  required  to  read 
the  Spectator  aloud.  I  have  a  mortal  grudge  against 
Addis  on." 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Janet,  " you  must  remember 


196  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OE, 


you  are  to  return  to  your  uncle's,  and  you  must  not  learn 
to  love  the  great  world  too  much." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Mr.  Barbour,  who  was  much  depressed 
at  the  approaching  parting,  "Miss  Ellen  may  not  mean  to 
return  to  her  uncle's.  A  young  lady  with  good  looks,  and 
a  heavy  purse,  will  be  found  out  in  Washington.  She  will 
just  suit  a  great  many  there — clerks  with  small  salaries, 
army  and  navy  men  with  expensive  habits ;  and  foreign 
attache's,  who,  being  nothing  in  their  own  country,  turn 
our  young  ladies'  heads  when  they  come  here." 

"  So  you  think  I  am  destined  for  no  other  fate  than  to 
pay  a  fortune-hunter's  debts.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Barbour  !" 

"  The  fact  is,  Mr.  Barbour  wants  you  himself,  Ellen,  and 
he  is  afraid  somebody  will  carry  you  off.  He  will  pay  us  a 
visit  this  winter,  I  expect,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 

"Well,"  said  Ellen  laughingly,  "I'd  rather  take  up 
with  him  than  to  go  back  to  my  old  life,  now  that  I  see 
you  are  all  so  happy  here." 

"But  your  aunt  and  uncle,"  said  Miss  Janet,  "you 
must  not  feel  unkindly  toward  them." 

"No,  indeed,"  said  Ellen,  "they  are  both  good  and  kind 
in  their  way,  but  uncle  is  reserved,  and  often  low-spirited. 
Aunt  is  always  talking  of  the  necessity  of  self-control,  and 
the  discipline  of  life.  She  is  an  accomplished  teaze. 
Why,  do  you  know,"  continued  Ellen,  laughingly,  as  she 
removed  Miss  Janet's  hand  from  her  mouth,  the  old  lady 
thus  playfully  endeavoring  to  check  her,  "  after  I  had 
accepted  Mrs.  Weston's  kind  invitation,  and  mammy  and  I 
were  busy  packing,  aunt  said  I  must  not  be  too  sanguine, 
disappointments  were  good  for  young  people,  and  that 
something  might  occur  which  would  prevent  my  going.  I 
believe  I  should  have  died  outright,  if  it  had  turned  out  so." 

"And  so,"  said  Mr.  Barbour,  "to  get  rid  of  a  dull 
home,  you  are  determined  to  fly  in  the  face  of  fate,  and 
are  going  to  Washington  after  a  husband.  Ah !  Miss 
Ellen,  beware  of  these  young  men  that  have  nothing  but 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  AS   IT  IS.  197 


their  whiskers  and  their  epaulettes.  Let  me  tell  you  of  a 
young  friend  of  mine,  who  would  marry  the  man  of  her 
choice,  in  spite  of  the  interference  of  her  friends,  and  one 
April  morning  in  the  honey  moon  they  were  seen  break- 
fasting under  a  persimmon  tree.  However,  as  you  are  a 
young  lady  of  fortune,  you  will  always  be  sure  of  coffee 
and  hot  rolls ;  your  good  father  has  made  such  a  sensi- 
ble will,  that  the  principal  never  can  be  touched.  How 
many  fine  fortunes  would  have,  been  saved,  if  Southerners 
had  taken  such  precautions  long  ago.  You  will  have  a 
fine  time  young  ladies,  you  must  keep  an  account  of  your 
conquests,  and  tell  me  of  them  when  you  come  back." 

"  Its  only  Ellen  who  is  going  in  search  of  love  ad- 
ventures, Mr.  Barbour,"  said  Alice. 

"Make  yourself  easy,  Mr.  Barbour,"  said  Ellen.  "I 
mean  to  have  a  delightful  time  flirting,  then  come  back  to 
marry  you,  and  settle  down.  Mammy  says  I  can't  help 
getting  good,  if  I  live  near  Miss  Janet." 

"Well,  I  will  wait  for  you,"  said  Mr.  Barbour.  «  And  now 
Alice,  sing  me  a  sweet  old  Scotch  song.  Sing,  « 'Twas  within 
half  a  mile  of  Edinburgh  town." 

"I  can't  come  quite  so  near  it  as  that,"  said  Alice,  "but 
I  will  sing  < '  Twas  within  a  mile.'  '  She  sang  that,  and 
then  "  Down  the  burn  Davie."  Then  Miss  Janet  proposed 
<  Auld  lang  syne,'  in  which  they  all  joined ;  in  singing  the 
chorus,  Mr.  Barbour,  as  usual,  got  very  much  excited,  and 
Alice  a  little  tired,  so  that  the  music  ceased  and  Alice 
took  her  seat  by  her  uncle  on  the  sofa. 

"  Miss  Janet,"  said  Mr.  Barbour,  «  you  look  better  than 
I  have  seen  you  for  a  long  time." 

«  Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Janet.  "  Mr.  "Washington  asked 
me  the  other  day  if  I  were  ever  going  to  die.  I  suppose, 
like  Charles  II.,  I  ought  to  apologize  for  being  so  long  in 
dying  ;  but  I  am  so  comfortable  and  happy  with  my  friends, 
that  I  do  not  think  enough  of  the  journey  I  soon  must  take 
to  another  world.  How  many  comforts  I  have,  and  how 

17* 


198  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


many  kind  friends  !  I  feel  now  that  we  are  about  to  be 
separated,  that  I  should  thank  you  all  for  your  goodness 
to  me,  lest  in  the  Providence  of  God  we  should  not  meet 
again.  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none,  but  such  as  I  have, 
my  poor  thanks  are  most  gratefully  offered." 

"  Oh !  Cousin  Janet,"  said  Alice,  with  her  eyes  full  of 
tears,  "why  will  you  not  go  with  us ;  your  talking  so  makes 
me  dread  to  part  with  you." 

"  My  darling,  we  must  all  try  to  get  to  Heaven,  where 
there  are  no  partings.  I  cannot  be  a  great  while  with  you; 
remember,  I  am  eighty-five  years  old.  But  I  will  not  grieve 
you.  We  will,  I  trust,  all  meet  here  in  the  spring.  God 
is  here,  and  He  is  in  the  great  city ;  we  are  all  safe  beneath 
His  care.  Next  summer  He  will  bring  Arthur  home  again. ' ' 

"  Partings  should  be  as  short  as  possible,"  said  Mr. 
Barbour.  "  So  I  mean  to  shake  hands  with  everybody,  and 
be  off.  Young  ladies,  be  generous  ;  do  not  carry  havoc  and 
desolation  in  your  train ;  take  care  of  your  uncle,  and  come 
back  again  as  soon  as  possible." 

He  then  took  a  friendly  leave  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Weston, 
and  mounted  his  horse  to  return  home. 

"What  a  nice  old  beau  Mr.  Barhour  would  make,"  said 
Ellen,  «  with  his  fine  teeth  and  clear  complexion.  I  wonder 
he  never  married." 

"Upon  my  word  !"  said  Miss  Janet,  "you  will  be  won- 
dering next,  why  I  never  married.  But  know,  Miss  Ellen, 
that  Mr.  Barbour  once  had  a  romantic  love-affair — he  was 
to  have  been  married  to  a  lovely  girl,  but  death  envied  him 
his  bride,  and  took  her  off — and  he  has  remained  true  to 
her  memory.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he  recovered  his 
cheerfulness.  For  two  years  he  was  the  inmate  of  an 
asylum." 

"Poor  old  gentleman,"  said  Ellen.  "I  do  believe  other 
people  besides  me  have  trouble v" 

"Ah!  when  you  look  around  you,  even  in  the  world, 
which  you  anticipate  with  so  much  pleasure,  you  will  see 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  199 


many  a  smiling  face  that  tries  to  hide  a  sad  and  aching 
heart ;  a  heart  that  has  ached  more  painfully  than 
yours." 

"No,"  said  Ellen,  looking  up  from  the  ottoman  at  Miss 
Janet's  feet,  where  she  was  seated ;  and  then  bursting  into 
tears.  "  Oh !  thoughtless  and  frivolous  as  I  am,  I  shall 
never  forget  Mm.  If  you  knew  how  I  have  wept  and  suf- 
fered, you  would  not  wonder  I  longed  for  any  change  that 
would  make  me  forget." 

"  Dear  child,"  said  Miss  Janet,  laying  her  hand  on  that 
young  head,  « I  did  not  mean  to  reprove  you.  When  God 
brings  sorrow  on  the  young,  they  must  bear  it  with  resigna- 
tion to  his  will.  He  delights  in  the  happiness  of  his  creatures, 
and  it  is  not  against  his  will  that  the  young  should  enjoy 
the  innocent  pleasures  of  life.  Then  go  you  and  Alice 
into  the  world,  but  be  not  of  the  world,  and  come  back  to 
your  homes  strengthened  to  love  them  more.  Cousin  Wes- 
ton  has  the  Bible  opened,  waiting  for  us." 

******* 

In  the  mean  time,  Bacchus  has  received  a  good  deal  of 
wholesome  advice  from  Phillis,  while  she  was  packing  his 
trunk,  and  in  return,  he  has  made  her  many  promises.  He 
expresses  the  greatest  sorrow  at  leaving  her,  declaring  that 
nothing  but.  the  necessity  of  looking  after  his  master  in- 
duces him  to  do  so,  but  he  is  secretly  anticipating  a  suc- 
cessful and  eventful  campaign  in  Washington.  All  the 
servants  are  distressed  at  the  prospect  of  the  family  being 
away  for  so  long  a  time ;  even  old  Wolf,  the  house-dog, 
has  repeatedly  rubbed  his  cold  nose  against  Alice's  hand, 
and  looked  with  the  most  doleful  expression  into  her  beau- 
tiful face;  but  dogs,  like  their  masters,  must  submit  to  what 
is  decreed,  and  Wolf,  after  prayers,  went  off  peaceably  with 
William  to  be  tied  up,  lest  he  should  attempt,  as  usual,  to 
follow  the  carriage  in  the-«aormng. 


200  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OR, 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

You  are  very  much  mistaken  in  your  estimate  of  the 
character  of  a  Virginian,  if  you  suppose  he  allows  himself, 
or  his  horses,  to  be  driven  post-haste,  when  there  is  no 
urgent  necessity  for  it.  It  is  altogether  different  with  a 
Yankee ;  there  is  no  enjoyment  for  him  from  the  time  he 
starts  on  a  journey  until  he  reaches  the  end  of  it.  He  is 
bound  to  be  in  a  hurry,  for  how  knows  he  but  there  may 
be  a  bargain  depending,  and  he  may  reach  his  destination 
in  time  to  whittle  successfully  for  it. 

The  Westons  actually  lingered  by  the  way.  There  were 
last  looks  to  be  taken  of  home,  and  its  neighborhood; 
there  were  partings  to  be  given  to  many  objects  in  nature, 
dear  from  association,  as  ancient  friends.  Now,  the  long 
line  of  blue  hills  stands  in  bold  relief  against  the  hazy 
sky — now,  the  hills  fade  away  and  are  hid  by  thick  masses 
of  oak  and  evergreen.  Here,  the  Potomac  spreads  her 
breast,  a  mirror  to  the  heavens,  toward  its  low  banks,  the 
broken  clouds  bending  tranquilly  to  its  surface.  There, 
the  river  turns,  and  its  high  and  broken  shores  are  covered 
with  rich  and  twining  shrubbery,  its  branches  bending 
from  the  high  rocks  into  the  water,  while  the  misty  hue  of 
Indian  summer  deepens  every  tint. 

Fair  Alice  raises  her  languid  head,  already  invigorated 
by  the  delightful  air  and  prospect.  The  slightest  glow 
perceptible  is  making  its  way  to  her  pale  cheek,  while  the 
gay  and  talkative  Ellen  gazes  awhile  at  the  scenery  around 
her,  then  leans  back  in  the  carriage,  closes  her  brilliant 
eyes,  and  yields,  oh !  rare  occurrence,  to  meditation. 

Two  days  are  passed  in  the  journey,  and  our  party,  ar- 
rived safely  at  Willard's,  found  their  comfortable  apart- 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  201 

ments  prepared  for  them,  and  their  servants  as  glad  of 
their  arrival  as  if  they  had  been  separated  a  year,  instead 
of  a  day. 

And  now,  dear  reader,  I  do  not  intend  discussing  Wash- 
ington society.  It  must  be  a  more  skilful  pen  than  mine 
that  can  throw  a  sun  of  light  upon  this  chaos  of  fashionable 
life,  and  bring  forth  order  and  arrangement.  We  are  only 
here  for  relaxation  and  change  of  air,  and  when  our  in- 
valids feel  their  good  effects,  we  must  return  with  them  to 
their  quiet,  but  not  unuseful  life. 

There  were  many  preparations  to  be  made,  for  our  young 
ladies  proposed  to  enter  into  the  gayeties  of  the  season. 
Ellen  was  to  throw  off  her  mourning,  and  her  ovld  nurse 
begged  her  and  Alice  "to  buy  a  plenty  of  nice  new  clothes, 
for  they  might  as  well  be  out  of  the  world  as  out  of  the 
fashion."  They  both  agreed  with  her,  for  they  were  de- 
termined to  be  neither  unnoticed  nor  unknown  among  the 
fair  ones  of  the  Union  who  were  congregated  at  the  capital. 

Do  not  be  astonished ;  there  is  already  a  tinge  of  red 
beneath  the  brown  lashes  on  Alice's  cheek.  And  as  for  her 
heart,  oh!  that  was  a  great  deal  better,  too;  for  it  has 
been  found  by  actual  experiment,  that  diseases  of  the  heart, 
if  treated  with  care,  are  not  fatal  any  more  than  any  other 
complaints.  Mrs.  Weston  grew  happier  every  day ;  and  as  to 
Alice's  uncle,  he  hardly  ever  took  his  eyes  off  her,  declar- 
ing that  there  must  be  something  marvellously  strengthen- 
ing in  the  atmosphere  of  our  much  abused  city ;  while  Alice, 
hearing  that  Walter  Lee  was  mixing  in  all  the  gayeties  of 
Richmond,  already  began  to  question  her  attachment  to 
him,  and  thinking  of  Arthur's  long-continued  and  devoted 
affection,  trembled  lest  she  should  have  cast  away  the  love 
of  his  generous  heart. 

Mr.  Weston  often  felt  the  time  hang  heavily  upon  him, 
though  he  saw  many  valued  friends.  He  would  not  have 
exchanged  the  life  of  a  country  gentleman  for  all  the 
honors  that  politics  could  offer  to  her  favorite  votary ;  and 


202  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

for  the  ordinary  amusements  which  charmed  Alice  and 
Ellen,  even  in  advance,  the  time  had  come  for  him  to  say, 
"I  have  no  pleasure  in  them."  But  thinking  of  Alice's 
health  only,  and,  above  all,  anxious  that  her  marriage  with 
his  son  should  be  consummated  during  his  lifetime,  no 
sacrifice  appeared  to  him  too  great  to  make. 

The  weather  was  still  delightful,  and  as  the  soire'es,  as- 
semblies, and  matinees  had  not  yet  commenced,  a  party 
was  formed  to  go  to  Mount  Vernon.  The  day  fixed  upon 
was  a  brilliant  one,  in  the  latter  part  of  November.  A 
number  of  very  agreeable  persons  boarding  in  the  hotel 
were  to  accompany  them.  Bacchus  was  exceedingly  well 
pleased  at  the  prospect.  "'Deed,  Miss  Alice,"  he  said, 
"I  is  anxious  to  see  de  old  gentleman's  grave;  he  was  a 
fine  rider ;  the  only  man  as  ever  *I  seed  could  beat  master 
in  de  saddle."  Mark  objected  to  his  carriage  and  horses 
being  used  over  such  rough  roads,  so  a  large  omnibus  was 
engaged  to  carry  the  whole  party,  Mark  and  Bacchus  going 
as  outriders,  and  a  man  in  a  little  sort  of  a  carry-all  having 
charge  of  all  the  eatables,  dishes,  plates,  &c.,  which  would 
be  required.  The  company  were  in  good  spirits,  but  they 
found  traveling  in  the  State  of  Virginia  was  not  moving 
over  beds  of  roses.  Where  are  such  roads  to  be  found  ? 
Except  in  crossing  a  corduroy  road  in  the  West,  where  can 
one  hope  to  be  so  thoroughly  shaken  up?  I  answer,  no 
where !  And  have  I  not  a  right  to  insist,  for  my  native 
State,  upon  all  that  truth  will  permit  ?  Am  I  not  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  Old  Dominion,  a  member  of  one  of  the  F.  F.  V's  ? 
Did  not  my  grandfather  ride  races  with  General  Washing- 
ton? Did  not  my  father  wear  crape  on  his  hat  at  his 
funeral  ?  Let  that  man  or  woman  inclined  to  deny  me  this 
privilege,  go,  as  I  have,  in  a  four-horse  omnibus  to  Mount 
Yernon.  Let  him  rock  and  twist  over  gullies  and  mud- 
holes  ;  let  him  be  tumbled  and  jostled  about  as  I  was,  and 
I  grant  you  he  will  give  up  the  point. 

Our  party  jogged  along.     At  last  the  old  gates  were 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  203 


in  sight,  and  the  ragged  little  negroes  stood  ready  to 
open  them.  Here  we  should  begin  to  be  patriotic,  but  do 
not  fear  being  troubled  with  a  dissertation  on  this  worn-out 
subject.  I  will  not  even  observe  that  by  the  very  gate 
that  was  opened  for  the  Westons  did  the  Father  of  his 
country  enter;  for  it  would  be  a  reflection  on  the  memory 
of  that  great  and  good  man  to  suppose  that  he  would  have 
put  his  horse  to  the  useless  trouble  of  jumping  the  fence, 
when  there  was  such  a  natural  and  easy  way  of  accomplish- 
ing his  entrance.  Ellen,  however,  declared  "that  she 
firmly  believed  those  remarkable-looking  children  that 
opened  the  gates,  were  the  same  that  opened  them  for 
Washington ;  at  any  rate,  their  clothes  were  cut  after  the 
same  pattern,  if  they  were  not  the  identical  suits  them- 
selves." 

There  was  a  gentleman  from  the  North  on  the  premises 
when  they  arrived.  He  joined  the  party,  introduced  him- 
self, and  gave  information  that  he  was  taking,  in  plaster, 
the  house,  the  tomb,  and  other  objects  of  interest  about  the 
place,  for  the  purpose  of  exhibiting  them.  He  made  himself 
both  useful  and  agreeable,  as  he  knew  it  was  the  best  way 
of  getting  along  without  trouble,  and  he  was  very  talkative 
and  goodnatured.  But  some,  as  they  approached  the 
grave,  observed  that  Mr.  Weston,  and  one  or  two  others, 
seemed  to  wish  a  certain  quietness  of  deportment  to  evince 
respect  for  the  hallowed  spot,  and  the  jest  and  noisy 
laugh  were  suddenly  subdued.  Had  it  been  a  magnificent 
building,  whose  proportions  they  were  to  admire  and  dis- 
cuss ;  had  a  gate  of  fair  marble  stood  open  to  admit  the 
visitor ;  had  even  the  flag  of  his  country  waved  where  he 
slept,  they  could  not  have  felt  so  solemnized — but  to  stand 
before  this  simple  building,  that  shelters  his  sarcophagus 
from  the  elements;  to  lean  upon  unadorned  iron  gates, 
which  guarded  the  sacred  spot  from  intrusion;  to  look  up 
and  count  the  little  birds'  nests  in  the  plastered  roof,  and 
the  numberless  hornets  that  have  made  their  homes  there 


204  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN  ;   OR, 


too ;  to  pluck  the  tendrils  of  the  wild  grapes  that  cluster 
here — this  simple  grandeur  affected  each  one.  He  was 
again  in  life  before  them,  steadily  pursuing  the  great  work 
for  which  he  was  sent,  and  now,  reposing  from  his  labor. 

And  then  they  passed  on  to  the  old,  empty  grave. 
It  was  decaying  away,  yawning  with  its  open  mouth  as  if 
asking  for  its  honored  tenement.  Ellen  gazed  down, 
and  sprang  in,  and  ere  the  others  could  recover  from  their 
astonishment,  or  come  forward  to  offer  her  assistance,  she 
looked  up  in  her  beauty  from  the  dark  spot  where  she  was 
standing. 

"Let  me  get  out  alone,"  said  she;  "I  have  such  a  prize;" 
and  she  held  in  her  hand  a  bird's  nest,  with  its  three  little 
white  eggs  deposited  therein. 

"  Oh  !  Ellen,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  robbing  a  bird's  nest. 
Put  it  back,  my  dear." 

"No,  indeed,  Mrs.  Weston,  do  not  ask  me.  Think  of 
my  finding  it  in  Washington's  grave.  I  mean  to  have  it 
put  on  an  alabaster  stand,  and  a  glass  case  over  it,  and 
consider  it  the  most  sacred  gem  I  possess.  There,  Uncle 
Bacchus,  keep  it  for  me,  and  don't  crush  the  eggs." 

"I  won't  break, 'em,  Miss  Ellen,"  said  Bacchus,  whose 
thoughts  were  apt  to  run  on  "  sperrits."  "  I  thought  for  cer- 
tain you  had  see'd  de  old  gentleman's  ghost,  and  he  had 
called  you  down  in  dat  dark  hole.  But  thar  aint  no  dan- 
ger of  his  comin  back  agin,  I  reckon.  'Pears  as  if  it  hadn't 
been  long  since  I  followed  him  to  dis  very  grave." 

"What !"  said  the  Northern  gentleman,  "were  niggers 
allowed  to  attend  Washington's  funeral?" 

"  Colored  people  was,  sir,"  said  Bacchus,  in  a  dignified 
manner.  "We  aint  much  used  to  being  called  niggers, 
sir.  We  calls  ourselves  so  sometimes,  but  gentlemen  and 
ladies,  sir,  mostly  calls  us  colored  people,  or  servants. 
General  Washington  hisself,  sir,  always  treated  his  servants 
with  politeness.  I  was  very  well  acquainted  with  them, 
and  know'd  all  about  the  general's  ways  from  them." 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  AS   IT  IS.  205 


Mr.  Weston  could  not  but  smile  at  the  reproof  Bac- 
chus had  given.  He  turned  and  apologized  to  the  gentle- 
man for  his  servant's  talkativeness,  saying  he  was  an  old 
and  much  indulged  servant. 

They  turned  away  from  that  empty  grave.  The  young 
girls  round  whom  so  many  affections  clustered ;  the  fond 
and  anxious  mother ;  the  aged  and  affectionate  relative ; 
the  faithful  and  valued  servant — turned  away  from  that 
empty  grave.  When  will  stay  the  tumultuous  beatings  of 
their  hearts  ?  When  will  they  sleep  in  the  shadow  of  the 
old  church  ?  Each  heart  asked  itself,  When  ? 

Ere  they  left  this  hallowed  spot,  Mr.  Weston  addressed 
a  gentleman  who  lingered  with  him.  This  gentleman  was 
an  Abolitionist,  but  he  acknowledged  to  Mr.  Weston  that 
he  had  found  a  different  state  of  things  at  the  South  from 
wThat  he  expected. 

"  Sir,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Weston,  "there  is  a  melancholy 
fascination  in  this  hollow,  deserted  grave.  It  seems  to  be 
typical  of  the  condition  in  which  our  country  would  be, 
should  the  spirit  that  animated  Washington  no  longer  be 
among  us." 

Mr.  Weston  smiled  as  he  answered,  "  Perhaps  it  is  good 
for  you  to  be  here,  to  stand  by  the  grave  of  a  slaveholder, 
and  ask  yourself  <  Would  I  dare  here  utter  the  calumnies 
that  are  constantly  repeated  by  the  fanatics  of  my  party  ?' 
On  this  spot,  sir,  the  Abolitionist  should  commune  with  ( 
his  own  heart,  and  be  still.  Well  was  it  said  by  one  of 
your  own  statesmen,  <  My  doctrines  on  the  slavery  ques- 
tion are  those  of  my  ancestors,  modified  by  themselves, 
as  they  were  in  an  act  of  Confederation.  In  this  one  re- 
spect they  left  society  in  the  political  condition  in  which 
they  found  it.  A  reform  would  have  been  fearful  and 
calamitous.  A  political  revolution  with  one  class  was 
morally  impracticable.  Consulting  a  wise  humanity,  they 
submitted  to  a  condition  in  which  Providence  had  placed 
them.  They  settled  the  question  in  the  deep  foundations 

18 


206  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


of  the  Constitution.'  Would  you  then,  sir,  destroy  the 
fabric,  by  undermining  the  Constitution  ?  Alas  !  this 
would  be  the  consequence,  were  it  possible  to  carry  out 

the  views  of  the  Abolition  party." 

*  *  *  *  *  * 

The  beautiful  words  of  Harrison  G.  Otis,  delivered  in 
Faneuil'Hall,  Boston,  Aug.  22d,  1835,  would  have  been 
appropriate  here,  too.  Speaking  of  the  formation  of  Anti- 
slavery  Societies,  he  said,  "Suppose  an  article  had  been 
proposed  to  the  Congress  that  framed  the  instrument  of 
Confederation,  proposing  that  the  Northern  States  should 
be  at  liberty  to  form  Anti-slavery  Associations,  and  deluge 
the  South  with  homilies  upon  slavery,  how  would  it  have 
been  received  ?  The  gentleman  before  me  apostrophized 
the  image  of  Washington.  I  will  follow  his  example,  and 
point  to  the  portrait  of  his  associate,  Hancock,  which  is 
pendant  by  its  side.  Let  us  imagine  an  interview  between 
them,  in  the  company  of  friends,  just  after  one  had  signed 
the  commission  for  the  other ;  and  in  ruminating  on  the 
lights  and  shadows  of  futurity,  Hancock  should  have  said, 
<  I  congratulate  my  country  upon  the  choice  she  has  made, 
and  I  foresee  that  the  laurels  you  gained  in  the  field  of 
Braddock's  defeat,  will  be  twined  with  those  which  shall 
be  earned  by  you  in  the  war  of  Independence ;  yet  such 
are  the  prejudices  in  my  part  of  the  Union  against  slavery, 
that  although  your  name  and  services  may  screen  you 
from  opprobrium,  during  your  life,  your  countrymen,  when 
millions  weep  over  your  tomb,  will  be  branded  by  mine  as 
man-stealers  and  murderers ;  and  the  stain  of  it  conse- 
quently annexed  to  your  memory.' ' 

But,  alas !  the  Abolitionist  will  not  reflect.  He  lives 
in  a  whirlpool,  whither  he  has  been  drawn  by  his  own 
rashness.  What  to  him  is  the  love  of  country,  or  the 
memory  of  Washington  ?  John  Randolph  said,  "  I  should 
have  been  a  French  Atheist  had  not  my  mother  made  me 
kneel  beside  her  as  she  folded  my  little  hands,  and  taught 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT    IS.  207 

me  to  say,  <  Our  Father.'  '  Remember  this,  mothers  in 
America ;  and  imprint  upon  the  fair  tablet  of  your  young 
child's  heart,  a  reverence  for  the  early  institutions  of  their 
country,  and  for  the  patriots  who  moulded  them,  that 
"  God  and  my  country"  may  be  the  motto  of  their  lives. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

"ALICE,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  as  they  sat  together  one 
morning,  before  it: was  time  to  dress  for  dinner,  "if  you 
choose,  I  will  read  to  you  the  last  part  of  Cousin  Janet's 
letter.  You  know,  .my  daughter,  of  Walter's  gay  course 
in  Richmond,  and  it  is  as  I  always  feared.  There  is  a 
tendency  to  recklessness  and  dissipation  in  Walter's  dis- 
position. With  what  a  spirit  of  deep  thankfulness  you 
should  review  the  last  few  months  of  your  life  !  I  have 
sometimes  feared  I  was  unjust  to  Walter.  My  regret  at 
the  attachment  for  him  which  you  felt  at  one  time,  became 
a  personal  dislike,  which  I  acknowledge,  I  was  wrong  to 
yield  to ;  but  I  think  we  both  acted  naturally,  circum- 
stanced as  we  were.  Dear  as  you  are  to  me,  I  would 
rather  see  you  dead  than  the  victim  of  an  unhappy  mar- 
riage. Love  is  not  blind,  as  many  say.  I  believe  the 
stronger  one's  love  is,  the  more  palpable  the  errors  of  its 
object.  It  was  so  with  me,  and  it  would  be  so  with  you. 
That  you  have  conquered  this  attachment  is  the  crowning 
blessing  of  my  life,  even  should  you  choose  never  to  con- 
summate your  engagement  with  Arthur.  I  will,  at  least, 
thank  God  that  you  are  not  the  wife  of  a  man  whose  vio- 
lent passions,  even  as  a  child,  could  not  be  controlled, 
and  who  is  destitute  of  a  spark  of  religious  principle.  I 
will  now  read  you  what  Cousin  Janet  says. 


208  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OK, 


«  <I  have  received  a  long  letter  from  Mr.  C.,  the  Episco- 
pal clergyman  in  Richmond,  in  answer  to  mine,  inquiring 
of  Walter.  All  that  I  feared  is  true.  Walter  is  not  only 
gay,  hut  dissipated.  Mr.  C.  says  he  has  called  to  see  him 
repeatedly,  and  invited  him  to  his  house,  and  has  done  all 
that  he  could  to  interest  him  in  those  pleasures  that  are  in- 
nocent and  ennohling ;  but,  alas !  it  is  difficult  to  lay  aside 
the  wine  cup,  when  its  intoxicating  touch  is  familiar  to  the 
lips,  and  so  of  the  other  forbidden  pleasures  of  life.  To 
one  of  Walter's  temperament  there  is  two-fold  danger. 
Walter  is  gambling,  too,  and  bets  high ;  he  will,  of  course, 
be  a  prey  to  the  more  experienced  ones,  who  will  take  ad- 
vantage of  his  youth  and  generosity  to  rob  him.  For,  is  a 
professed  gambler  better  than  a  common  thief? 

"  <  It  is  needless  for  me  to  say,  I  have  shed  m'any  tears 
over  this  letter.  Tears  are  for  the  living,  and  I  expect  to 
shed  them  while  I  wear  this  garment  of  mortality.  Can 
it  be  that  in  this  case  the  wise>  Creator  will  visit  the  sins 
of  the  father  upon  the  child  ?  Are  are  all  my  tears  and 
prayers  to  fail  ?  I  cannot  think  so,  while  He  reigns  in 
heaven  in  the  same  body  with  which  He  suffered  on  earth. 
In  the  very  hand  that  holds  the  sceptre  is  the  print  of  the 
nails;  under  the  royal  crown  that  encircles  His  brow,  can 
still  be  traced  the  marks  of  the  thorns.  He  is  surely,  then, 
touched  with  a  feeling  of  our  infirmities,  and  He  will  in 
the  end,  bring  home  this  child  of  my  love  and  my  adoption. 
I  often  say  to  myself,  could  I  see  Alice  and  Arthur  and 
Walter  happy,  how  happy  should  I  be !  I  would  be  more 
than  willing  to  depart;  but  there  would  be  still  a  care 
for  something  in  this  worn-out  and  withered  frame.  It 
will  be  far  better  to  be  with  Jesus,  but  He  will  keep  me 
here  as  long  as  He  has  any  thing  for  me  to  do.  The  dear 
girls!  I  am  glad^they  are  enjoying  themselves,  but  I  long 
to  see  them  again.  I  hope  they  will  not  be  carried  away 
by  the  gay  life  they  are  leading.  I  shall  be  glad  when 
they  are  at  their  home  duties  again. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  209 


«  'It  will  be  well  with  Arthur  and  Alice ;  you  know  old 
maids  are  always  the  best  informed  on  other  people's  love 
affairs.  When  Arthur  left  home  Alice  felt  only  a  sisterly 
affection  for  him ;  when  Walter  went  away  it  was  really  no 
more  for  him  either,  but  her  kind  heart  grieved  when  she 
saw  him  so  situated :  and  sympathy,  you  know,  is  akin  to 
lave.  She  must  remember  now  the  importance  that  at- 
taches itself  to  an  engagement  of  marriage,  and  not  give 
Arthur  any  more  rivals.  She  was  off  her  guard  before,  as 
her  feeling  an  affection  for  Arthur 'was  considered  rather 
too  much  a  matter  of  course ;  but  she  cannot  fail  at  some 
future  day  to  return  his  devoted  affection.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  young  people  are  both,  I  trust,  doing  well.  Ar- 
thur, so  long  in  another  section  of  his  own  dear  country, 
will  be  less  apt  to  be  unduly  prejudiced  in  favor  of  his 
own ;  and  Alice  will  only  mingle  in  the  gay  world  enough 
to  see  the  vanity  of  its  enjoyments.  She  will  thus  be  pre- 
pared to  perform  with  fidelity  the  duties  that  belong  to  her 
position  as  the  wife  of  a  country  gentleman.  No  wonder 
that  my  spectacles  are  dim  and  my  old  eyes  aching  after 
this  long  letter.  Love  to  dear  Cousin  Weston,  to  the  girls, 
to  yourself,  and  all  the  servants. 

"'From  COUSIN  JANET.' 

"'Phillis  says  she  has  not  enough  to  do  to  keep  her 
employed.  She  has  not  been  well  this  winter ;  her  old  cough 
has  returned,  and  she  is  thinner  than  I  ever  saw  her.  Dr. 
L.  has  been  to  see  her  several  times,  and  he  is  anxious  for 
her  to  take  care  of  herself.  She  bids  me  say  to  Bacchus 
that  if  he  have  broken  his  promise,  she  hopes  he  will  be 
endowed  with  strength  from  above  to  keep  it  better  in 
future.  How  much  can  we  all  learn  from  good  Phillis ! ' ' 

Alice  made  no  observation  as  her  mother  folded  the  let- 
ter and  laid  it  on  her  dressing  table ;  but  there  lay  not  now 
on  the  altar  of  her  heart  a  spark  of  affection  for  one,  who 
for  a  time,  she  believed  to  be  so  passionately  beloved.  The 

18* 


210  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

fire  of  that  love  had  indeed  gone  out,  but  there  h.ad  lingered 
among  its  embers  the  form  and  color  of  its  coals — these 
might  have  been  rekindled,  but  that  was  past  forever. 
The  rude  but  kind  candor  that  conveyed  to  her  the  know- 
ledge of  Walter's  unworthiness  had  dissolved  its  very 
shape ;  the  image  was  displaced  from  its  shrine.  "Walter 
was  indeed  still  beloved,  but  it  was  the  affection  of  a  pure 
sister  for  an  erring  brother ;  it  was  only  to  one  to  whom 
her  soul  in  its  confiding  trust  and  virtue  could  look  up, 
that  she  might  accord  that  trusting  devotion  and  reverence 
a  woman  feels  for  the  chosen  companion  of  her  life. 

And  this,  I  hear  you  say,  my  reader,  is  the  awakening 
of  a  love  dream  so  powerful  as  to  undermine  the  health  of 
the  sleeper — -so  dark  as  to  cast  a  terror  and  a  gloom  upon 
many  who  loved  her ;  it  is  even  so  in  life,  and  would  you 
have  it  otherwise?  Do  you  commend  that  morbid  affection 
which  clings  to  its  object  not  only  through  sorrow,  but  sin? 
through  sorrow — but  not  in  sin.  Nor  is  it  possible  for  a 
pure-minded  woman  to  love  unworthily  and  continue  pure. 

This  Alice  felt,  and  she  came  forth  from  her  struggle 
stronger  and  more  holy ;  prizing  above  all-  earthly  things 
the  friends  who  had  thus  cleared  for  her  her  pathway,  and 
turning  with  a  sister's  love,  which  was  all  indeed  she  had 
ever  known,  to  that  one  who,  far  away,  would  yet  win  with 
his  unchanging  affection  her  heart  to  his  own. 

Walter  Lee's  case  was  an  illustration  of  the  fact  that 
many  young  men  are  led  into  dissipation  simply  from  the 
want  of  proper  occupation.  There  was  in  him  no  love  of 
vice  for  itself;  but  disappointed  in  securing  Alice's  consent 
to  his  addresses,  and  feeling  self-condemned  in  the  effort 
to  win  her  affections  from  Arthur,  he  sought  forgetfulness 
in  dissipation  and  excitement.  He  fancied  he  would  find 
happiness  in  the  ball-room,  the  theatre,  the  midnight  revel, 
and  at  the  gambling  table.  Have  you  not  met  in  the 
changing  society  of  a  large  city,  one  whose  refined  and 
gentle  manners  told  of  the  society  of  a  mother,  a  sister, 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  211 

or  of  some  female  friend  whose  memory,  like  an  angel's 
wing,  was  still  hovering  around  him  ?  Have  you  not  pitied 
him  when  you  reflected  that  he  was  alone,  far  away  from 
such  good  influences  ?  Have  you  not  longed  to  say  to  him, 
I  wish  I  could  be  to  you  what  she  has  been,  and  warn  you 
of  the  rocks  and  quicksands  against  which  you  may  be 
shipwrecked. 

There  were  many  who  felt  thus  towards  Walter;  his 
strikingly  handsome  face  and  figure,  his  grace  and  intelli- 
gence, with  a  slight  reserve  that  gave  a  charm  to  his  man- 
ner. To  few  was  his  history  familar ;  the  world  knew  of 
his  name,  and  to  the  world  he  was  an  object  of  importance, 
for  gold  stamps  its  owner  with  a  letter  of  credit  through 
life. 

Walter  launched  into  every  extravagance  that  presented 
itself.  He  was  flattered,  and  invited  to  balls  and  parties ; 
smiles  met  him  at  every  step,  and  the  allurements  of  the 
world  dazzled  him,  as  they  had  many  a  previous  victim. 
Sometimes,  the  thought  of  Alice  in  .her  purity  and  truth 
passed  like  a  sunbeam  over  his  heart;  but  its  light  was 
soon  gone.  She  was  not  for  him;  and  why  should  he  not 
seek,  as  others  had  done,  to  drown  all  care?  Then  the 
thought  of  Cousin  Janet,  good  and  holy  Cousin  Janet,  with 
her  Bible  in  her  hand,  and  its  sacred  precepts  on  her  lips, 
would  weigh  like  a  mountain  on  his  soul;  but  he  had  staked 
all  for  pleasure,  and  he  could  riot  lose  the  race. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  go  down,  step  after  step,  to  the  dark 
dungeon  of  vice.  AYe  will  not  follow  Walter  to  the  revel, 
nor  the  gaming-table.  We  will  close  our  ears  to  the  blas- 
phemous oaths  of  his  companions,  to  the  imprecations  on 
his  own  lips.  The  career  of  folly  and  of  sin  was  destined 
to  be  closed ;  and  rather  would  we  draw  a  veil  over  its 
every  scene.  Step  by  step,  he  trod  the  path  of  sin,  until 
at  last,  urged  by  worldly  and  false  friends  to  a  quarrel, 
commenced  on  the  slightest  grounds,  .he  challenged  one 
who  had  really  never  offended  him;  the  challenge  was 


212  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 

accepted,  and  then Walter  Lee  was  a  murderer ! 

He  gazed  upon  the  youthful,  noble  countenance ;  he  felt 
again  and  again  the  quiet  pulse,  weeping  when  he  saw  the 
useless  efforts  to  bring  back  life. 

He  was  a  murderer,  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man !  for 
he  had  been  taught  that  He  who  gave  life,  alone  had  the 
power  to  take  it  away.  He  knew  that  God  would  require 
of  him  his  brother's  blood.  He  knew,  too,  that  though 
the  false  code  of  honor  in  society  would  acquit  him,  yet  he 
would  be  branded,  even  as  Cain.  He  could  see  the  finger 
of  scorn  pointed  towards  him ;  he  could  hear  men,  good  men, 
say,  " There  is  Walter  Lee,  who  killed  a  man  in  a  duel!" 

Ah!  Cousin  Janet,  not  in  vain  were  your  earnest  teach- 
ings. Not  in  vain  had  you  sung  by  his  pillow,  in  boyhood, 
of  Jesus,  who  loved  all,  even  his  enemies.  Not  in  vain 
had  you  planted  the  good  seed  in  the  ground,  and  watered 
it.  Not  in  vain  are  you  now  kneeling  by  your  bedside, 
imploring  God  not  to  forsake  forever  the  child  of  your 
prayers.  Go  to  your  rest  in  peace,  for  God  will  yet  bring 
him  home,  after  all  his  wanderings;  for  Walter  Lee,  far 
away,  is  waking  and  restless ;  oppressed  with  horror  at  his 
crime,  flying  from  law  and  justice,  flying  from  the  terrors 
of  a  burdened  conscience — he  is  a  murderer ! 

Like  Cain,  he-  is  a  wanderer.  He  gazes  into  the  depths 
of  the  dark  sea  he  is  crossing ;  but  there  is  no  answering 
abyss  in  his  heart,  where  he  can  lose  the  memory  of  his 
deed.  He  cannot  count  the  wretched  nights  of  watching, 
and  of  thought.  Time  brings  no  relief,  change  no  solace. 
When  the  soul  in  its  flight  to  eternity  turns  away  from 
God,  how  droop  her  wings !  She  has  no  star  to  guide 
her  upward  course ;  but  she  wanders  through  a  strange 
land,  where  all  is  darkness  and  grief. 

He  traversed  many  a  beautiful  country;  he  witnessed 
scenes  of  grandeur ;  he  stood  before  the  works  of  genius 
and  of  art ;  he  listened  to  music,  sweet  like  angels'  songs ; 
but  has  he  peace  ?  Young  reader,  there  is  no  peace  with- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE  AS   IT   IS.  213 


out  God.  Now  in  this  world,  there  is  many  a  brow  bend- 
ing beneath  the  weight  of  its  flowers.  Could  we  trace  the 
stories  written  on  many  hearts,  how  would  they  tell  of 
sorrow !  How  many  would  say,  in  the  crowded  and  noisy 
revel,  "I  have  come  here  to  forget;  but  memory  will  never 
die!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ALICE  and  Ellen,  accompanied  by  Mrs.  Weston,  and 
some  gentlemen  from  their  section  of  the  country,  were  to 
attend  a  private  ball,  expected  to  be  one  of  the  most  bril- 
liant of  the  season.  Mr.  Weston,  not  feeling  well,  retired 
early,  preferring  to  listen  to  the  young  ladies'  account  of 
the  evening,  after  his  breakfast  and  newspaper  the  next 
morning.  When  they  were  ready  to  go,  they  came  into 
Mr.  Weston's  parlor,  to  obtain  his  commendation  on  their 
taste.  Mrs.  Weston  was  there  awaiting  them;  and  her 
own  appearance  was  too  striking  to  be  passed  .over  without 
notice.  She  was  still  really  a  handsome  woman,  and  her 
beauty  was  greatly  enhanced  by  her  excellent  taste  in 
dress.  Her  arms,  still  round  and  white,  were  not  unco- 
vered. The  rich  lace  sleeves,  and  the  scarf  of  the  same 
material  that  was  thrown  over  her  handsome  neck  and 
shoulders,  was  far  more  becoming  than  if  she  had  assumed 
the  bare  arms  and  neck  which  was  appropriate  to  her 
daughter.  Her  thick  dark  hair  was  simply  put  back  from 
her  temples,  as  she  always  wore  it,  contrasting  beautifully 
with  the  delicate  white  flowers  there.  Her  brocade  silk, 
fitting  closely  to  her  still  graceful  figure,  and  the  magnifi- 
cent diamond  pin  that  she  wore  in  her  bosom ;  -the  per- 
fect fitness  of  every  part  of  her  apparel  gave  a  dignity  arid 
beauty  to  her  appearance,  that  might  have  induced  many 
a  gay  lady  who  mixes,  winter  after  winter,  in  the  amuse- 


214  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


ments  of  our  city,  to  go  and  do  likewise.  When  youth  is 
gone  forever,  it  is  better  to  glide  gracefully  into  middle 
age ;  and  if  half  the  time  and  thought  that  is  expended  on  the 
choice  of  gay  colors  and  costly  material,  were  passed  in 
properly  arranging  what  is  suitable  to  age  and  appearance, 
the  fashionable  assemblies  of  the  present  day  would  not 
afford  such  spectacles,  as  cannot  fail  both  to  pain  and 
amuse. 

Mr.  Weston  turned  to  the  door  as  it  opened,  expecting 
the  girls  to  enter;  and  a  little  impatient,  too,  as  it  was 
already  half-past  ten  o'clock.  The  gentlemen  had  been 
punctual  to  their  appointed  hour  of  ten,  but  declared  that 
three  quarters  of  an  hour  was  an  unusually  short  time  to 
be  kept  waiting  by  ladies.  Ellen  came  first,  her  tall  but 
well-proportioned  figure  arrayed  in  a  rose-colored  silk 
of  the  most  costly  material.  She  wore  a  necklace  and 
bracelet  of  pearl,  and  a  string  of  the  same  encircled  her 
beautifully-arranged  hair.  The  rich  color  that  mantled  in 
her  cheeks  deepened  still  more,  as  she  acknowledged  the 
salutation  of  the  gentlemen ;  but  Alice,  who  entered  imme- 
diately after  her,  went  at  once  to  her  uncle,  and  putting 
her  hand  in  his,  looked  the  inquiry,  ''Are  you  pleased 
with  me?"  No  wonder  the  old  man  held  her  hand  for  a 
moment,  deprived  of  the  power  of  answering  her.  She 
stood  before  him  glowing  with  health  again,  the  coral  lips 
parted  with  a  smile,  awaiting  some  word  of  approval. 
The  deep-blue  eyes,  the  ivory  skin,  the  delicately-flushed 
cheeks,  the  oval  face,  the  auburn  curls  that  fell  over  brow 
and  temple,  and  hung  over  the  rounded  arid  beautiful 
shoulders ;  the  perfect  arm,  displayed  in  its  full  beauty  by 
the  short  plain  sleeve ;  the  simple  dress  of  white ;  the  whole 
figure,  so  fair  and  interesting,  with  no  ornaments  to  dim 
its  youthful  charms ;  but  one  flower,  a  lily,  drooping  over 
her  bosom.  The  tears  gathered  in  his  large  eyes,  and 
drawing  her  gently  towards  him,  he  kissed  her  lips.  "  Alice, 
my  beloved,"  he  said,  "sweetest  of  God's  earthly  gifts, 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  215 


you  cannot  be  always  as  fair  and  young  as  you  are  now; 
but  may  God  keep  your  heart  as  pure  and  childlike,  until 
he  take  you  to  the  Heaven  which  is  your  destiny."  Be- 
fore any  one  could  reply,  he  had  bowed  to  the  rest  of  the 
company  and  left  the  room ;  and  even  Alice,  accustomed 
as  she  was  to  his  partial  affection,  felt  solemnized  at  the 
unusual  earnestness  with  which  he  had  addressed  her ;  but 
Mrs.  Weston  hurried  them  off  to  the  scene  of  fashion  and 
splendor  which  they  had  been  anticipating. 

*  *  *  * 

Mr.  Weston  was  about  to  retire,  when  Bacchus  suddenly 
entered  the  room,  preceded  by  a  slight  knock.  He  was 
very  much  excited,  and  evidently  had  information  of  great 
importance  to  communicate. 

"  Master,"  said  he,  without  waiting  to  get  breath, 
"  they're  all  got  took." 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Bacchus?" 

"Nothing,  sir,  only  they're  all  cotched,  every  mother's 
son  of  'em." 

"  Of  whom  are  you  speaking  ?" 

"  Of  them  poor  misguided  niggers,  sir,  de  Aboli- 
tioners  got  away ;  but  they're  all  cotched  now,  and  I'm 
sorry  'nuff  for  'em.  Some's  gwine  to  be  sold,  and  some's 
gwine  to  be  put  in  jail ;  and  they're  all  in  the  worst  kind 
of  trouble." 

"  Well,  Bacchus,  it  serves  them  right ;  they  knew  they 
were  not  free,  and  that  it  was  their  duty  to  work  in  the 
condition  in  which  God  had  placed  them.  They  have  no- 
body to  blame  but  themselves." 

"  'Deed  they  is — 'scuse  me  for  contradictin  you — but 
there's  them  as  is  to  blame  a  heap.  Them  Abolitioners, 
sir,  is  the  cause  of  it.  They  wouldn't  let  the  poor  devils 
rest  until  they  'duced  them  to  go  off.  They  'lowed,  they 
would  get  'em  off,  and  no  danger  of  their  being  took  agin. 
They  had  the  imperance,  sir,  to  'suade  those  poor  deluded 
niggers  that  they  were  born  free,  when  they  knowed  they 


216  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OR, 

were  born  slaves.  I  hadn't  no  idea,  sir,  they  was  sich 
liars  ;  but  I've  been  up  to  de  place  whar  the  servants  is, 
and  its  heart-breaking  to  hear  'em  talk.  Thar's  Simon, 
that  strapping  big  young  man,  as  drives  Mrs.  Seymour's 
carriage ;  they  got  him  off.  He's  a  crying  up  thar,  like 
a  baby  a  month  old.  He's  been  a  hidin  and  a  dodgin  for 
a  week — he's  nigh  starved.  And  now  he's  cotched,  and 
gwine  to  be  sold.  He's  a  raal  spilt  nigger :  his  master 
dressed  him  like  a  gentleman,  and  he  had  nothin  to  do  all 
day  but  to  drive  de  carriage;  and  he  told  me  hisself, 
when  he  was  out  late  at  night  wid  de  young  ladies,  at  par- 
ties, he  never  was  woke  in  de  mornin,  but  was  'lowed  to 
sleep  it  out,  and  had  a  good  hot  breakfast  when  he  did 
wake.  Well,  they  got  him  off.  They  made  out  he'd  go  to 
the  great  Norrurd,  and  set  up  a  trade,  or  be  a  gentleman, 
may  be ;  and  like  as  not  they  told  him  he  stood  a  good 
chance  of  being  President  one  of  dese  days.  They  got 
him  off  from  his  good  home,  and  now  he's  done  for.  He's 
gwine  to  be  sold  South  to-morrow.  He's  a  beggin  young 
Mr.  Seymour  up  thar  not  to  sell  him,  and  makin  promises, 
but  its  no  use  ;  he's  goin  South.  I  bin  hearin  every  word 
he  said  to  his  young  master.  <  Oh,  Master  George,'  says 
he,  « let  me  off  dis  time.  I  didn't  want  to  go  till  the  Aboli- 
tioners  told  me  you  had  no  right  to  me,  kase  God  had 
made  me  free  ;  and  you,  they  said,  was  no  better  than  a 
thief,  keepin  me  a  slave  agin  natur  and  the  Bible  too.' ' 

"  'But,  Simon,'  said  young  Mr.  Seymour,  <you  stole  a 
suit  of  my  new  clothes  when  you  went  off;  and  you  got 
money,  too,  from  Mrs.  Barrett,  saying  I  had  sent  you  for 
it.  How  came  you  to  do  that?' 

« <  I  will  'fess  it  all,  sir,'  said  Simon,  « and  God  knows  I'm 
speakin  truth.  I  took  de  suit  of  clothes.  The  Abolitioner, 
he  said  I'd  be  a  gentleman  when  I  got  North,  and  I  must 
have  somethin  ready  to  put  on,  to  look  like  one.  So  he  said 
you'd  always  had  the  use  of  me,  and  twasn't  no  harm  for  me 
to  take  de  suit,  for  I  was  'titled  to  it  for  my  sarvices.  He 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  217 

axed  me  if  any  body  owed  my  mistis  money,  as  I  know'd  of. 
I  told  him,  yes,  Mrs.  Barrett  did,  and  mistis  often  sent  me 
after  it  withoat  any  order,  for  she  know'd  I'd  bring  it 
straight  to  her.  Now,  my  boy,  said  the  Abolitioner,  dis 
money  is  yourn — its  your  wages.  You've  got  a  better 
right  to  it  than  ever  your  mistis  had.  You  can't  start  on 
a  journey  without  money ;  so  you  go  to  dis  lady  and  tell 
her  you  was  sent  for  money  by  your  mistis,  and  you  keep 
de  money  for  your  own  use.  Here's  de  money,'  said  he, 
<  Master  George,  take  it  to  mistis,  and  tell  her  de  truth.' 

"  <  Damn  the  rascals/  says  young  Mr.  Seymour,  <  they're 
not  content  with  man-stealing,  but  they're  stealing  money 
and  clothes,  and  every  thing  they  can  lay  their  hands  upon. 
So  much  for  your  Abolition  friends,  Simon,'  says  he.  <  I 
wish  you  joy  of  them.  They've  brought  you  to  a. pretty 
pass,  and  lost  you  as  good  a  home  as  ever  a  servant  had.' 

"  c  Oh,  master,'  said  Simon,  'won't  you  take  me  back  ? 
Indeed  I  will  be  faithful.' 

"  <  Can't  trust  you,  Simon,-'  said  Mr.  Seymour ;  <  besides, 
none  of  your  fellow-servants  want  you  back.  You  have 
no  relations.  My  mother  bought  you,  when  you  was  a 
little  boy,  because  she  knew  your  mother ;  and  after  she 
died  you  were  knocked  about  by  the  -other  servants.  My 
sister  taught  you  how  to  read  the  Bible,  and  you  have 
been  a  member  of  the  Methodist  church.  If  you  was  a 
poor  ignorant  fellow,  that  didn't  know  what  was  right,  I 
would  take  you  back ;  but  you've  done  this  wid  your  eyes 
open.  Our  servants  say  they  wants  no  runaways  to  live, 
'long  o'  them.  Now,  if  you  can  get  any  of  your  Abolition 
friends  to  buy  you,  and  take  you  North,  and  make  a  gen- 
tleman of  you,  I'll  sell  you  to  them ;  but  they  wouldn't 
give  a  fip  to  keep  you  from  starving.  I  am  sorry  its  so, 
but  I  can't  take  you  back.'  He  said  these  very  words, 
sir.  He  felt  mighty  bad,  sir ;  he  talked  husky,  but  he 
went  out.  Simon  called  after  him,  but  he  didn't  even 
look  back;  so  I  know  Simon's  goin  for  true." 

19 


218  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

"I  am  really  sorry  for  the  servants,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  "  but  they  won't  take  warning.  I'm  told  that  since 
Abolitionists  have  come  to  live  in  .Washington,  and  have 
been  going  among  the  colored  people,  that  it  is  almost  im- 
possible to  employ  an  honest  servant ;  it  -is  on  this  account 
that  the  Irish  are  so  much  employed.  Some  years  ago 
the  families  had  no  trouble  with  their  domestics,  but  Abo- 
lition has  ruined  them.  What  a  wretched  looking  class 
they  are,  too  !  lazy  and  dirty ;  these  are  the  consequences 
of  taking  bad  advice." 

"Well,  master,"  said  Bacchus, '"I  wish  to  de  Lord  we 
could  take  'em  all  to  Virginny,  and  give  'em  a  good  coat 
of  tar  and  feathers ;  thar's  all  them  feathers  poor  Aunt 
Peggy  had  in  them  barrels.  We  aint  got  no  call  for  'em 
at  home.  I  wish  we  could  put  'em  to  some  use.  I  wouldn't 
like  no  better  fun  than  to  spread  de  tar  on  neat,  and  den 
stick  de  feathers  on  close  and  thick." 

"Well,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr. Weston,  "its  near  bedtime, 
and  I  am  not  well ;  so  I  will  retire." 

"  Certainly,  master ;  you  must  'scuse  me,  I'm  afeard 
I've  kep  you  up ;  I  felt  mightily  for  them  poor  creaturs, 
thar.  Lor',  master,-  I  aint  nigh  so  weakly  as  you,  and 
think  I  nussed  you,  and  used  to  toat  you  on  my  back  when 
you  was  a  little  boy.  You  was  mighty  fat,  I  tell  you — I 
used  to  think  my  back  would  bust,  sometimes,  but  I'm 
pretty  strong  yet.  'Pears  like  I  could  toat  you  now,  if  I 
was  to  try." 

,  "Not  to-night,  thank  you,  Bacchus.  Though  if  any 
thing  should  occur  to  make  it  necessary,  I  will  call  you," 
said  Mr.  Weston. 

Bacchus  slept  in  a  kind  of  closet  bedroom  off  his  mas- 
ter's, and  he  went  in  accordingly,  but  after  a  few  momenta 
returned,  finding  Mr.  Weston  in  bed. 

"Will  you  have  any  thing,  sir ?"• 

"Nothing,  to-night." 

"  Well,  master,  I  was  thinkin  to  say  one  thing  more, 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  219 


and  'tis,  if  dese  Abolitioners,  dat  has  so  much  larnin,  if 
they  only  had  some  of  the  Bible  larniii  my  wife  has,  how 
much  good  'twould  do  'em.  .My  wife  says,  <  God  put  her 
here  a  slave,  and  she's  a  gwine  to  wait  for  Him  to  set  her 
free;  if  he  aint  ready  to  do  so  till  he  calls  her  to  Heaven, 
she's  willin  to  wait.'  Lord,  sir,  my  wife,  she  sets  at  de 
feet  of  Jesus,  and  larns  her  Bible.  I  reckon  de  Aboli- 
tioners aint  willin  to  do  that ;  they  don't  want  to  get  so 
low  down ;  'pears  as  if  they  aint  willin  to  go  about  doin 
good  like  Jesus  did,  but  they  must  be  puttin  up  poor  slaves 
to  xsin  and.  sorrow.  Well,  they've  got  to  go  to  their  ac- 
count, any  how." 

Bacchus  finally  retired,  but  it  was  with  difficulty  he 
composed  himself  to  sleep.  He  was  still  mentally  dis- 
cussing that  great  subject,  Abolition,  which,  like  a  mighty 
tempest,  was  shaking  the  whole  country.  All  at  once  it 
occurred  to  him  "  that  it  wouldn't  do  no  good  to  worry 
about  it,"  so  he  settled  himself  to  sleep.  A  bright  idea 
crossed  his  mind  as  he  closed  his  eyes  upon  the  embers 
that  were  fading  on  the  hearth  in  his  master's  room ;  in 
another  moment  he  was  reposing,  in  utter  oblivion  of  all 
things,  whether  concerning  his  own  affairs  or  those  of  the 
world  in  general. 

The  next  morning,  just  as  Mr.  Weston  had  finished  his 
paper,  Bacchus  came  in  with  a  pair  of  boots,  shining  as- 
tonishingly. "  I  believe,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  *<  I  won't  put 
them  on  yet,  our  ladies  have  not  come  down  to  breakfast,  and 
its  hardly  time,  for  it  is  but  half-past  nine  o'clock ;  I  think 
it  must  have  been  morning ^when  they  came  home." 

«  Yes  sir,"  said  Bacchus  ;  "  they  aint  awake  yet,  Aunt 
Mar  thy  tells  me." 

"  Well,  let  them  sleep.  I  have  breakfasted,  and  I  will 
sit  here  and  enjoy  this  good  fire,  until  they  come." 

Bacchus  lingered,  and  looked  as  if  he  could  not  enjoy 
any  thing  that  morning. 

"Any  thing  the  matter,  Bacchus  ?"  said  Mr.  Weston. 


220  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


"Well,"  said  Bacchus,  "nothin  more  I  'spose  than  what 
I  had  a  right  to  expect  of  'em.  Simon's  got  to  go.  I  done 
all  I  could  for  him,  but  it  aint  nothin,  after  all." 

"  What  could  you  do  ?"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

"  Well,  master,  I  was  nigh  asleep  last  night,  when  all  at 
once  I  thought  'bout  dis  here  Abolition  gentleman,  Mr. 
Baker,  that  boards  long  wid  us.  Now,  thinks  I,  he  is  a 
mighty  nice  kind  of  man,  talks  a  heap  'bout  God  and  the 
Gospel,  and  'bout  our  duty  to  our  fellow-creaturs.  I 
know'd  he  had  a  sight  of  money,  for  his  white  servant  told 
me  he  was  a  great  man  in  Boston,  had  a  grand  house  thar, 
his  wife  rode  in  elegant  carriages,  and  his  children  has  the 
best  of  every  thing.  So,  I  says  to  myself,  he  aint  like 
the  rest  of  '«m,  he  don't  approve  of  stealing,  and  lying, 
and  the  like  o'  that ;  if  he  thinks  the  Southern  gentlemen 
oughter  set  all  their  niggers  free,  why  he  oughter  be  willin 
to  lose  just  a  little  for  one  man ;  so  I  went  straight  to  his 
room  to  ask  him  to  buy  Simon." 

"  That  was  very  wrong,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
sternly.  "  Don't  you  know  your  duty  better  than  to  be  in- 
terfering in  the  concerns  of  these  people  ?  I  am  exces- 
sively mortified.  What  will  this  gentleman  think  of  me  ?" 

"  Nothin',  master,"  said  Bacchus.  "  Don't  be  oneasy.  I 
told  him  I  come  to  ax  him  a  favor  on  my  own  'sponsibility, 
and  that  you  didn't  know  nothin'  about  it.  Well,  he  axed 
me  if  I  wanted  a  chaw  of  tobacco.  <No  sir,'  says  I,  «  but 
I  wants  to  ax  a  Iktle  advice.'  <  I  will  give  you  that  with 
pleasure,'  says  he. 

"<  Mr.  Baker,'  says  I,  <I  understands -you  think  God 
made  us  all,  white  and  colored,  free  and  equal ;  and  I 
knows  you  feels  great  pity  for  de  poor  slaves  that  toils  and 
frets  in  de  sun,  all  their  lives  like  beasts,  and  lays  down  and 
dies  like  beasts,  clean  forgot  like  'em  too.  I  heard  you  say 
so  to  a  gentleman  at  de  door  ;  I  thought  it  was  mighty  kind 
of  you  to  consider  so  much  'bout  them  of  a  different  color 
from  your  own.  I  heard  you  say  it  was  de  duty  of  de 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  221 


gentlemen  of  de  South  to  set  their  slaves  free,  if  it  did  make 
'em  poor,  kase  Jesus  Christ,  he  made  hisself  poor  to  set  us 
all  free.  Warn't  dat  what  you  said,  sir  ?' 

« 'Exactly,'  Bays  he.  <I  didn't  know  you  had  such  a 
good  memory.' 

"<Now,  Mr.  Baker,'  says  I,  <  you're  a  Christian  your- 
self, or  you  couldn't  talk  dat  way.  I  know  Christians 
must  like  to  make  other  people  happy;  they're  bound  to, 
for  their  Master,  ^Christ,'  did.  Well,  sir,  all  de  poor 
creturs  dat  de  Abolitionists  got  off  is  cotched^ -they're 
gwine  to  be  sold,  and  thar's  one  young  man  thar,  that  had 
a  good  home  and  a  good  mistis,  and  him  they  'suaded  off, 
and  now  he's  gwine  to  be  sold  South,  whar  he'll  toil  and 
sweat  in  de  hot  sun.  Now,  Mr.  Baker,  if  de  Southern 
gentlemen's  duty's  so  plain  to  you,  that  they  oughter  make 
themselves  poor,  to  make  their  slaves  free  and  happy, 
surely  you'll  buy  this  one  poor  man  who  is  frettin'  hisself 
to  death*  It  won't  make  you  poor  to  buy  jist  this  one ; 
his  master  says  he'll  sell  him  to  any  Abolitioner  who'll 
take  him  to  the  great  Norrurd,  and  have  him  teached. 
Buy  him,  sir,  for  de  Lord's  sake— de  poor  fellow  will  be 
so  happy;  jist  spend  a  little  of  your  money  to  make  dat 
one  poor  cretur  happy.  Crod  gave  it  all  to  you,  sir,  and 
he  aint  gave  none  to  de  poor  slaves,  not  even  gave  him  his 
freedom.  You  set  dis  one  poor  feller  free,  and  when 
you  come  to  die,  it  will  make  you  feel  so  good  to  think 
about  it ;  when  you  come  to  judgment,  maybe  Christ  may 
say,  "  You  made  dis  poor  man  free.,  and  now  you  may  come 
into  de  kingdom  and  set  down  wid  me  forever.'  Oh  !  sir, 
says  I,  buy  him,  de  Lord  will  pay  you  back,  you  won't 
lose  a  copper  by  him.' ' 

«  Well,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  «  what  did  he  say  ?" 

"Why,  sir,"  said  Bacchus,  "he  got  up  and  stood  by  de 
fire,  and  warmed  hisself,  and  says  he,  <  Ole  felur,  if  I'd  a 
had  de  teaching  of  you,  I'd  a-  lamed  you  to  mind  your  owi\ 
business.  I'll  let  you  know  I  didn't  come  to  Washington 

19* 


222  AUNT  PIIILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 


to  buy  niggers.'  « Here/  says  he,  to  dat  white  nigger  that 
waits  on  him,  <  Next  time  dis  feller  wants  me,  tell  him  to 
go  'bout  his  business.' 

"  'Good  mornin'  sir,'  says  I,  <I  shan't  trouble  you  agin. 
May  de  Lord  send  better  friends  to  de  slaves  than  de  like 
of  you.' ' 

"Well,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "you  did  very 
wrong,  and  I  hope  you  will  not  again  take  such  a  liberty 
with  any  person.  You  see  for  yourself  what  an  Aboli- 
tionist is.  I  wish  those  poor  runaways  had  had  some  such 
experience,  it  would  have  saved  them  from  the  trouble 
they  are  now  in." 

"Yes,  indeed, master.  I've  been  down  thar  agin,  to-day. 
I  went  right  early ;  thar^s  an  ole  woman  thar  that  tried  to 
run  away.  She's  gwine  too,  and  she  leaves  her  husband 
here.  She  aint  a  cryin,  though,  her  heart's  too  full  for 
tears.  Oh !  master,"  said  Bacchus,  sighing  deeply,  "  I 
think  if  you'd  seed  her,  you'd  do  more  than  the  Aboli- 

tioners." 

******* 

In  the  afternoon  Mr.  Weston  usually  walked  out.  He  did 
not  dine  with  the  ladies  at  their  late  hour,  as  his  com- 
plaint, dyspepsia,  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  live  lightly 
and  regularly.  Bacchus  attended  him  in  his  walks,  and 
many  a  person  turned  back  to  look  upon  the  fine-looking 
old  gentleman  with .  his  gold-headed  cane,  and  his  servant, 
whose  appearance  was  as  agreeable  as  his  own.  Bacchus 
•was  constantly  on  the  lookout  for  his  master,  but  he 
managed  to  see  all  that  was  going  on  too,  and  to  make 
many  criticisms  on  the  appearance  and  conduct  of  those 
he  met  in  his  rambles. 

Bacchus  followed  his  master,  and  found  that  he  was 
wending  his  steps  to  the  place  where  the  arrested  run- 
aways were  confined.  This  was  very  agreeable  to  him, 
«•  for  his  heart  was  quite  softened  towards  the  poor  prisoners, 
and  he  had  an  idea  that  his  master's  very  presence  might 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  223 


carry  a  blessing  with  it.  "Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
as  they  were  going  in,  you  need  not  point  out  the  servants 
to  me.  I  will  observe  for  myself,  and  I  do  not  wish  to  be 
conspicuous." 

There  were  a  great  many  lounging  about,  and  looking 
round  there.  Some  were  considering  the  scene  as  merely 
curious;  some  were  blaming  the  slaves;  some  their  mas- 
ters, some  the  Abolitionists.  There  was  confusion  and 
constant  going  in  and  out.  But  though  the  countenances 
of  the  runaways  expressed  different  emotions,  it  was  evi- 
dent that  one  feeling  had  settled  in  each  breast,  arid  that 
was,  there  was  no  hope  that  any  thing  would  occur  to  re- 
lieve them  from  their  undesirable  position. 

Mr.  Weston  easily  recognized  Simon,  from  Bacchus's 
description.  He  had  a  boyish  expression  of  disappoint- 
ment and  irritation  on  his  countenance,  and  had  evi- 
dently been  recently  weeping.  There  were  several  men, 
one  or  two  of  them  with  bad  faces,  and  one,  a  light  mulatto, 
had  a  fine  open  countenance,  and  appeared  to  be  making 
an  effort  not  to  show  his  excessive  disappointment.  In 
the  corner  sat  the  woman,  on  a  low  bench — her  head  was 
bent  forward  on  her  lap,  and  she  was  swaying  her  body 
slightly,  keeping  motion  with  her  foot. 

"What  is  the  woman's  name,  Bacchus?"  asked  Mr. 
Weston  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  axed  her  dis  mornin,  sir.     Its  Sarah — Sarah  Mills." 

Mr.  Weston  walked  up  nearer  to  her,  and  was  regarding 
her,  when  she  suddenly  looked  up  into  his  face.  Finding 
herself  observed,  she  made  an  effort  to  look  unconcerned, 
but  it  did  not  succeed,  for  she  burst  into  tears. 

"I'm  sorry  to  see  you  here,  Sarah,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
"you  look  too  respectable  to  be  in  such  a  situation." 
Sarah  smoothed  down  her  apron,  but  did  not  reply. 
"  What  induced  you  to  run  away  ?  You  need  not  be 
afraid  to  answer  me  truthfully.  I  will  not  do  you  any 
harm." 


224  AUNT    PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OB, 

"  My  blessed  grief!"  said  Bacchus.  "  No,  master  couldn't 
do  no  harm  to  a  flea." 

"Hush,  Bacchus,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 

There  was  something  in  Mr.  Weston' s  appearance  that 
could  not  be  mistaken.  The  woman  gave  him  a  look  of 
perfect  confidence,  and  said — 

"  I  thought  I  could  better  myself,  sir." 

"  In  what  respect  ?  Had  you  an  unkind  master  ?"  said 
Mr.  Weston. 

"No,"  said  the  woman,  "but  my  husband  I  was  afear'd 
might  be  sold,  and  I  thought  I  could  make  so  much  money 
at  the  North,  that  I  could  soon  help  him  to  buy  himself. 
He's  a  barber,  sir,  lives  on  the  Avenue,  and  his  master, 
when  he  was  young,  had  l>im  taught  th-e  barber's  trade. 
Well,  his.  master  told  him  some  time  ago  that  he  might 
live  to  himself,  and  pay  him  so  much  a  month  out  -o'  what 
he  made,  but  seemed  as  if  he  couldn't  get  along  to  do  it. 
My  husband,  sir,  drinks  a  good  deal,  and  he -couldn't  do  it 
on  that  account ;  so,  a  year  or  two  ago  his  master  sent  for 
him,  and  told  him  that  he  was  worthless,  and  unless  he 
could  buy  himself  in  three  years  he  would  sell  him.  He 
said  he  might  have  himself  for  five  hundred  dollars,  and 
he  could  have  earned  it,  if  he  hadn't  loved  whiskey  so,  but 
'pears  as  if  he  can't  do  without  that.  We  aint  got  no 
children,  thank  God !  so  when  the  Abolitionists  advised 
me  to  go  off,  and  told  me  they  would  take  care  of  me  until 
I  got  out  of  my  master's  reach,  and  I  could  soon  make  a 
sight  of  money  to  buy  my  husband,  I  thought  I  would  go  ; 
and  you  see,  sir,  what's  eome  of  it." 

Sarah,  tried  to  assume  the  same  look  of  unconcern,  and 
again  she  wept  bitterly. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  reproach  you,  now  that  you  are  in 

\  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "  but  you  colored  people  in  this 

5  city  have  got  into  bad  hands.     God  has  made  you  slaves, 

\  and  you  should  be  willing  to  abide  by  his  will,  especially 

>  if  he  give  you  a  good  master." 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS   IT   IS.  225 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  was  mighty  hard  though,  to  think  of  my 
poor  husband's  being  sold, — he  and  I  don't  belong  to  the 
same  person." 

"  So,  I  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Weston ;  «  but  you  have  only 
made  your  condition  worse." 

"  Yes,  sir  ;  but  I  didn't  think  things  would  turn  out  so. 
The  Abolitionists  said  they  would  see  that  I  got  off  free." 

"  They  ought  to  be  cotched,  and  tied  up,  and  have  a 
good  whaling  besides,"  said  Bacchus,  indignantly. 

"'Taint  no  use  wishin 'em  harm,"  said  Sarah;  "the 
Lord's  will  be  done,"  at  the  same  time  her  pale  lips  qui- 
vered with  emotion. 

Mr.  Weston  paused  a  fe~w  moments  in  deep  thought,  then 
went  into  the  other  room.  When  he  returned,  she  was 
sitting  as  when  he  first  entered,  her  face  buried  in  her  lap. 

"  Sarah,"  he  said,  and  she  looked  up  as  before,  without 
any  doubt,  in  his  open  countenance,  "  are  you  a  good 
worker  ?" 

"I  am,  at  washin  and  ironin.  I  have  been  makin  a  good 
deal  for  my  master  that  way."'  « 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "if  I  were  to  purchase  you, 
so  as  you  could  be  near  your  husband,  would  you  conduct 
yourself  properly  ;  and  if  I  wish  it,  endeavor  to  repay  me 
what  I  have  given  for  you  ?" 

Such  a  thought  had  not  entered  the  despairing  woman's 
mind.  She  was  impressed  with  the  idea  fhat  she  should 
never  see  her  husband  again ;  other  things  did  not  effect 
her.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  for  Mr.  Weston  to  re- 
peat what  he  had  said  before  she  comprehended  his  mean- 
ing. When  she  heard  and  understood,  every  energy  of 
her  soul  was  aroused.  -  Starting  from  her  seat,  she  clasped 
her  hands  convulsively  together ;  her  face  became  death- 
like with  agitation. 

«  Would  I,  sir  ?  Oh !  try  me  !  Work !  what  is  work  if  I 
could  be  near  my  poor  husband  as  long  as  I  can.  Buy  me, 
sir,  only  for  Jesus'  sake,  buy  me.  I  will  work  day  and 


226  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


night  to  pay  you,  and  the  blessing  of  God  Almighty  will 
pay  you  too,  better  than  any  money  I  could  earn." 

Bacchus,  the  tears  rolling  down  his  cheeks,  looked  ear- 
nestly at  his  master's  face. 

"Buy  her,  master,  buy  her,  for  the  love  of  God,"  he 
said. 

"  Sarah,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "I  do  .not  like  to  be  in  a 
public  place ;  do  not,  therefore,  become  excited,  and  say 
any  thing  that  will  draw  observation  to  me.  I  have  bought 
you,  and  I  will  not  require  you  to  repay  me.  Come  to  me 
to-night,  at  Willard's,  and  I  will  give  you  your  free  pa- 
pers ;  I  will  see  also  what  I  can  do  for  your  husband.  In 
the  mean  time,  Bacchus  will  help  you  take  your  things 
from  this  place.  Stay  here  though  a  few  moments,  until 
he  gets  me  a  carriage  to  go  home  in,  and  he  will  return  to 
you." 

Sarah  perfectly  understood  that  Mr.  Weston  wanted  no 
thanks  at  that  time.  With  streaming  eyes,  now  -raised  to 
heaven — now  to  her  benefactor,  she  held  her  peace.  Mr. 
Weston  gladly  left  the  dreadful  place.  Bacchus  assisted 
him  to  a  hack,  and  then  came  back  to  fulfil  his  directions 
as  regards  the  woman. 

Oh  !  noble  heart,  not  here  thy  reward !  Thy  weak  and 
trembling  frame  attests  too  well  that  the  scene  is  too  try- 
ing to  afford  thee  pleasure.  The  All-seeing  Eye  is  bent 
upon  thee,  and  thine  own  ear  will  hear  the  commendation 
from  the  lips  of  Christ:  "Inasmuch  as  ye  have  done  it  unto 
the  least  of  these,  my  brethren,  ye  have  done  it  unto  me." 
Nor  thou  alone !  Many  a  generous  act  is  done  by  the 
slaveholder  to- the  slave.  God  will  remember  them,  though 
here  they  be  forgotten  or  unknown. 

We  need  not  dwell  on  the  unhoped-for  meeting  between 
Sarah  and  her  husband,  nor  on  Bacchus's  description  of  it  to 
his  master.  It  suffices  to  close  the  relation  of  this  inci- 
dent by  saying,  that  at  night  Sarah  came  to  receive  direc- 
tions from  Mr.  Weston ;  but  in  their  place  he  gave  her  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  227 


necessary  free  papers.  «  You  are  your  own  mistress,  now, 
Sarah,"  said  he.  "I  hope  you  will  prove  yourself  worthy 
to  be  so.  You  can  assist  your  husband  to  pay  for  him- 
self. If  you  are  honest  and  industrious,  you  cannot  fail 
to  do  well." 

Sarah's  heart  overflowed  with  unlooked-for  happiness. 
She  thanked  Mr.  Weston  over  and  over  again,  until,  fear- 
ing to  be  troublesome,  she  withdrew.  -  Bacchus  went  as  far 
as  the  corner,  and  promised  to  look  in  upon  herself  and 
husband,  repeatedly ;  which  he  did.  He  impressed  his  new 
acquaintances  with  a  proper  sense1  of  his  own  importance. 
With  the  exception  of  one  grand  spree  that  he  and  Sarah's 
husband  had  together,  the  three  enjoyed  a  very  pleasant 
and  harmonious  intercourse  during  the  remainder  of  the 

Westons'  stay  at  Washington. 

#  *  *  *  *  # 

The  gay  winter  had  passed,  and  spring  had  replaced  it ; 
but  night  after  night  saw  the  votaries  of  fashion  assembled, 
though  many  of  them  looked  rather  the  worse  for  wear. 
Ellen  and  Alice  tired  of  scenes  which  varied  so  little,  yet 
having  no  regular  employment,  they  hardly  knew  how  to 
cease  the  round  of  amusements  that  occupied  them.  Ellen 
said,  "Never  mind,  Alice,  we  will  have  plenty  of  time  for 
repentance,  and  we  might  as  well  quaff  to  the  last  drop  the 
cup  of  pleasure,  which  may  never  be  offered  to  our  lips 
again."  Very  soon  they  were  to  return  to  Virginia,  and 
now  they  proposed  visiting  places  of  interest  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  city. 

One  morning,  after  a  gay  party,  and  at  a  later  hour 
than  usual,  the  three  ladies  entered  the  breakfast-room. 
Mr.  Weston  was  waiting  for  them.  "Well,  young  la- 
dies," he  said,  "I  have  read  my  paper,  and  now  I  am 
ready  to  hear  you  give  an  account  of  your  last  evening's 
triumphs.  The  winter's  campaign  is  closing ;  every  little 
skirmish  is  then  of  the  greatest  importance.  How  do  you 
all  feel?" 


228  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


"I  do  not  know  how  I  feel,  uncle,"  said  Alice,  languidly. 

"Alice  has  expressed  my  feelings  exactly,  and  Mrs. 
Weston's  too,  I  fancy,"  said  Ellen. 

Mr.  Weston  smiled,  but  said  he  should  not  excuse  them 
from  their  promise  of  giving  him  a  faithful  description  of 
the  scene. 

"Well,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "I  have  a  decided  talent 
for  description ;  but  remember,  Mrs.  Weston,  my  genius  must 
not  be  cramped.  Bo  not  break  the  thread  of  my  discourse 
by  < Ellen,  do  not  talk  sol'  A  Washington  party  is  what 
you  have  called  it,  Mr.  Weston,  a  skirmish.  You  remem- 
ber how  the  wind  blew  last  night.  When  we  reached  Mr. 

's  front  door,  the  people  had  collected  in  such  crowds 

in  the  hall,  to  get  a  little  air,  that  it  was  fully  ten  minutes 
before  we  could  get  in.  '  We  had  the  benefit  of  a  strong 
harsh  breeze  playing  about  our  undefended  necks  and 
shoulders.  As  soon  as  we  were  fairly  in,  though,  we  were 
recompensed  for  our  sufferings  in  this  respect.  We  went 
from  the  arctic  to  the  torrid  zone ;  it  was  like  an  August 
day  at  two  o'clock. 

"We  tried  to  make  our  way  to  the  lady  of  the  house,  but 
understood,  after  a  long  search,  that  she  had  been  pushed 
by  the  crowd  to  the  third  story ;  and  being  a  very  fat  per- 
son, was  seen,  at  the  last  accounts,  seated  in  a  rocking- 
chair,  fanning  herself  violently,  and  calling  in  vain  for  ice- 
cream. •  After  a  while  we  reached  the  dancing-room, 
where,  in  a  very  confined  circle,  a  number  were  waltzing 
and  Polka-ing.  As  this  is  a  forbidden  dance  to  Alice  and 
me,  we  had  a  fine  opportunity  of  taking  notes.  Mrs.  S. 
was  making  a  great  exhibition  of  herself;  she  puffed  and 
blew  as  if  she  had  th#  asthma ;  her  ringlets  streamed,  and 
her  flounces  flew.  I  was  immensely  anxious  for  the  little 
lieutenant  her  partner.  He  was  invisible  several  times ;  lost 
in  the  ringlets  and  the  flounces.  There  were  people  of  all 
sizes  and  ages  dancing  for  a  wager.  I  thought  of  what 
our  good  bishop  once  said  :  <  It  was  very  pretty  to  see  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  229 


young  lambs  gambolling  about;  but  when  the  old  sheep 
began  to  caper  too,  he-'d  rather  not  look  on.'  There  was 
poor  old  Mr.  K.,  with  his  red  face  and  his  white  .hair,  and 
his  heels  flying  in  every  direction.  (I  am  ashamed  of  you 
for  laughing  at  Mr.  K.,  Mrs.  Weston,  when  I  am  trying 
to  impress  upon  Alice's  mind  the  folly  of  such  a  scene.)  I 
dare  say  Mr.  K.'s  wife  was  at  that  very  moment,  five  hun- 
dred miles  off,  darning  her  children's  stockings. 

"All  the  people  did  not  dance  the  Polka,"  continued 
Ellen;  "and  I  was  dazzled  with  the  pretty  faces,  and  the 
wise-looking  heads.  Mr.  Webster  was  there,  with  his  deep 
voice,  and  solemn  brow,  and  cavernous  eyes ;  and  close  up 
to  him,  where  she  could  not  move  or  breathe,  there  was  a 
young  face,  beautiful  and  innocent  as  a  cherub's,  looking 
with  unfeigned  astonishment  upon  the  scene.  There  was 
Gen.  Scott,  towering  above  everybody ;  and  Mr.  Douglass, 
edging  his  way,  looking  kindly  and  pleasantly  at  every  one. 
There  were  artists"  and  courtiers;  soldiers  and  sailors; 
foolish  men,  beautiful  women,  and  sensible  women ;  though 
I  do  not  know  what  they  wanted  there.  There  were  speci- 
mens of  every  kind  in  this  menagerie  of  men  and  women. 
Dear  Mr.  Weston,  I  have  not  quite  done..  There  was  a 
lady  writer,  with  a  faded  pink  scarf,  and  some  old  artifi- 
cial flowers  in  her  hair.  There  was  a  she  Abolitionist  too  ; 
yes,  a  genuine  female  Abolitionist.  She  writes  for  the 
Abolition  papers.  She  considers  Southerners  heathens; 
looks  pityingly  at  the  waiters  as  they  handler  ice  cream. 
She  wants  Frederick  Douglass  to  be  the  next  President, 
and  advocates  amalgamation.  I  am  quite  out  of  breath; 
but  I  must  tell  you  that  I  looked  at  her  and  thought  Uncle 
Bacchus  would  just  suit  her,  with  his  airs  and  graces;  but 
I  do  not  think  she  is  stylish  enough  for  him." 

"But,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  "you  forget  Bac- 
chus has  a  wife  and  twelve  children." 

"  That  is  not  of  the  least  consequence,  my  dear 
madam,"  said  Ellen;  « I  can  imagine, when  a  woman  ap- 

20 


230  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

proves  of  amalgamation,  she  is  so  lost  to  every  sense  of 
propriety  that  it  makes  no  difference  to  her  whether  a  man 
is  married  or  not.  Now,  Alice,  I  resign  my  post ;  and  if 
you  have  any  thing  to  say  I  will  give  you  the  chair,  while 
I  run  up  to  my  room  and  write  aunt  a  good  long  letter." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

"THE  afternoon  is  so  delightful,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
"that  we  had  better  take  our  ride  to  the  Congress  burial 
ground.  Your  time  is  short,  young  ladies;  you  cannot 
afford  to  lose  any  of  it,  if  all  your  plans  are  to  be  carried 
out." 

The  ladies  gladly  agreed  to  go,  and  -were  not  long  in 
their  preparation.  Mark  was  a  perfect  prince  of  a  driver. 
When  the  ladies  had  occasion  to  go  into  the  country,  he 
entreated  them  to  hire  a  carriage,  but  he  was  always  ready 
to  display  his  handsome  equipage  and  horses  in  the  city, 
especially  on  the  Avenue. 

He  drove  slowly  this  afternoon,  and  Mrs.  Weston  re- 
membered, as  she  approached  Harper's,  that  she  had  one 
or  two  purchases  to  make.  Fearing  it  might  be  late  on 
their  return,  she  proposed  getting  out  for  a  few  moments. 

A  stream  of  gayly-dressed  people  crowded  the  pave- 
ments. The  exquisite  weather  had  drawn  them  out. 
Belles  with  their  ringlets  and  sun-shades,  and  beaux  with 
canes  and  curled  moustaches.  Irish  women  in  tawdry 
finery,  and  ladies  of  color  with  every  variety  of  ornament, 
and  ridiculous  imitation  of  fashion.  Now  and  then  a  re- 
spectable-looking negro  would  pass,  turning  out  of  the 
way,  instead  of  jostling  along. 

"Truly,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "Pennsylvania  Avenue  is 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT   IS.  231 


the  great  bazaar  of  America.  Here  are  senators  and 
members — three  and  four  walking  arm  in  arm.  Here  are 
gay  young  men,  dressed  in  the  latest  style ;  here  is  the 
army  and  navy  button  ;  old  people  and  young  children 
with  their  nurses  ;  foreigners  and  natives  ;  people  of  every 
shade  and  hue.  There  is  our  President,  walking  unat- 
tended, as  a  republican  president  should  walk.  And  see  I 
there  are  a  number  of  Indians,  noble-looking  men>  and  a 
white  boy  throwing  a  stone  at  them.  I  wish  I  had  the 
young  rascal.  On  our  right,  in  their  carriages,  are  the 
wives  and  children  of  the  rich ;  while,  scattered  about, 
right  and  left,  are  the  representatives  of  the  poor.  But 
what  is  this,  coming  along  the  side-walk?" 

The  girls  put  their  heads  out  of  the  window,  and  saw 
a  colored  man,  sauntering  along  in  an  impudent,  dont-carish 
manner.  His  dress — indeed  his  whole  appearance — was 
absurd.  He  wore  a  stylish,  shiny  black  hat;  the  rim 
slightly  turned  up  in  front,  following  the  direction  of  the 
wearer's  nose,  which  had  «  set  its  affections  on  things  above." 
His  whiskers  were  immense ;  so  were  his  moustaches, 
and  that  other  hairy  trimming  which  it  is  the*  fashion  to 
wear  about  the  jaws  and  chin;  and  for  which  I  know  no 
better  name  than  that  which  the  children  give — goatee ; 
a  tremendous  shirt  collar ;  brass  studs  in  his  bosom ;  a 
neck  handkerchief  of  many  colors,  the  ends  of  which 
stood  out  like  the  extended  wings  of  a  butterfly;  a  gor- 
geous watch  chain ;  white  kid  gloves ;  pantaloons  of  a 
large-sized  plaid,  and  fitting  so  very  tightly  that  it  was 
with  the  greatest  difficulty  he  could  put  out  his  feet ;  pa- 
tent leather  gaiter-boots,  and  a,  cane  that  he  flourished 
right  and  left  with  such  determined  strokes,  that  the 
children  kept  carefully  out  of  his  way.  Several  persons 
looked  back  to  wonder  and  laugh  at  this  strange  figure, 
the  drollery  of  which  was  greatly  enhanced  by  his  limber 
style  of  walking,  and  a  certain  expression  of  the  whole 
outer  man,  which  said,  "Who  says.  I  am  not  as  good 


232  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


as  anybody  on  this  avenue ;    Mr.   Fillmore,  or  any  one 
else?" 

Now  it  happened,  that  walking  from  the  other  direction 
toward  this  representative  of  the  much-injured  colored 
race,  was  a  stranger",  who  had  come  to  Washington  to  look 
about  him.  He  was  from  Philadelphia,  but  not  thinking  a 
great  deal  of  what  he  saw  in  our  capital  on  a  former  visit, 
he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  that  there  was  nothing  to 
make  it  worth  his  while  to  come  again;  but  hearing 
of  the  convalescing  turn  the  city  had  taken  since  the  im- 
mortal supporters  of  the  Compromise  and  the  Fugitive 
Slave  law  had  brought  comparative  harmony  and  peace, 
where  there  had  been  nought  but  disorder  and  confusion, 
he  suddenly  fancied  to  come  and  see  for  himself.  He 
was  not  an  Abolitionist,  nor  a  Secessionist,  nor  one  of 
those  unfortunate,  restless  people,  who  are  forever  stirring 
up  old  difficulties.  He  had  an  idea  that  the  Union  ought 
to  be  preserved  in  the  first  place ;  and  then,  whatever  else 
could  be  done  to  advance  the  interests  of  the  human  race 
in  general,  without  injury  to  oiif  national  interests,  should 
be  attended  to.  He  was  always  a  good-tempered  man, 
and  was  particularly  pleasant  this  afternoon,  having  on  an 
entire  new  suit  of  clothes,  each  article,  even  the  shirt- 
collar,  fitting  in  the  most  faultless  manner. 

As  he  walked  along,  he  noticed  the  colored  man  ad- 
vancing towards  him,  and  observed,  too,  what  I  forgot  to 
mention,  .that  he  held  a -cigar,  and  every  now  and  then 
put  it  to  his  mouth,  emitting  afterwards  a  perfect  cloud  of 
smoke. 

The  thought  occurred  to  him  that  the  man  did  not  in- 
tend to  turn  out  of  the  way  for  anybody,  and  as  they 
were  in  a  line,  he  determined  not  to  deviate  one  way  or 
the  other,  but  just  observe  what  this  favorite  of  fashion 
would  do.  They  walked  on,  and  in  a  minute  came  up  to 
each  other,  the  colored  man  not  giving  way  in  the  least, 
but  bumping,  hat,  goatee,  cane,  cigar,  and  all,  against  our 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  233 


Philadelphia!!,  whor  with  the  greatest  coolness  and  pre- 
sence of  mind,  doubled  up  his  fist  and  giving  the  colored 
Adonis  two  blows  with  it,  (precisely  on  the  middle  brass 
stud  which  confined  his  frilled  shirt-bosom,)  laid  him  full 
length  upon  the  pavement. 

"Now,"  said  the  Philadelphian,  "you've  had  a  lesson; 
the  next  time  you  see  a  gentleman  coming  along,  turn  out 
of  the  way  for"  him,  and  you'll  save  your  new  clothes." 
Without  another  glance  at  the  discomfited  beau,  who  was 
brushing  his  plaid  pantaloons  with  his  pocket-handker- 
chief, and  muttering  some  equivocal  language  that  would 
not  do  here,  he  went  on  his  way  to  see  the  improvements 
about  the  City  Hall. 

Mark's  low  laugh  was  heard  from  the  driver's  seat,  and 
Bacchus,  who  was  waiting  to  open  the  carriage  door  for 
Mr.  Weston,  stood  on  the  first  step,  and  touching  his  hat, 
said,  with  a  broad  grin,  "  Dat's  de-best  thing  we've  seen 
sence  we  come  to  Washington.  Dat  beats  Ole  Virginny." 

Mrs.  Weston  came  from  the  store  at  the  same  moment, 
and  Bacchus  gallantly  let  down  the  steps,  and,  after  se- 
curing the  door,  took  his  place  beside  Mark,  with  the 
agility  of  a  boy  of  sixteen. 

Mr.  Weston,  much  amused,  described  the  scene.  Mrs. 
Weston  declared  "  it  served  him  right ;  for  that  the  ne- 
groes were  getting  intolerable." 

"I  can  hardly  believe,"  she  said,  "the  change  that  has 
been  made  in  their  appearance  and  conduct.  They  think, 
to  obtain  respect  they  must  be  impertinent.  This  is  the 
effect  of  Abolition. 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "this  is  Abolition.  I  have 
thought  a  great  deal  on  the  condition  of  the  negroes  in 
our  country,  of  late.  I  would  like  to  see  every  man  and 
woman  that  God  has  made,  free,,  could  it  be  accomplished 
to  their  advantage.  I  see  the  evils  of  slavery,  it  is  some- 
times a  curse  on  the  master  as  well  as  the  slave. 

"  When  I  purchased  Sarah;  when  I  saw  those  grieving, 

20* 


234  AUNT    PIIILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

throbbing  souls,  my  own  was  overwhelmed  with  sympathy 
for  them.  This  is  slavery,  I  said  to  myself.  Poor  crea- 
tures, though  you  hav«  done  wrong,  how  severe  your  pu- 
nishment ;  to  be  separated  from  all  that  your  life  has  had  to 
make  it  pleasant,  or  even  tolerable/  This  is  slavery  indeed, 
and  where  is  the  man,  come  from  God,  who  will  show  us  a 
remedy  ?  I  look  at  the  free  blacks  of  the  North  and  South. 
I  say  again,  this  is  Abolition !  How  worthless,  how  de- 
graded they  are,  after  they  imbibe  these  ridiculous  notions. 
When  I  behold  the  Southern  country,  and  am  convinced 
that  it  is  impossible  to  manumit  the  slaves,  I  conclude  that 
here,  at  least,  they  are  in  their  natural  condition.  ,  Hereto- 
fore, I  feel  that  I  have  only  done  my  duty  in  retaining  mine, 
while  I  give  them  every  means  of  comfort,  and  innocent 
enjoyment,  that  is  in  my  power.  Now  I  have  seen  the  re- 
sult of  the  Abolition  efforts,.!  am  more  convinced  that  my 
duty  has  been,  and  will  be,  as  I  have  said.  Could  they  be 
colonized  from  Virginia,  I  would  willingly  consent  to  it,  as 
in  our  climate,  white  labor  would  answer ;  but  farther  South, 
only  the  negro  can  labor,  and  this  is  an  unanswerable  ob- 
jection to  our  Southern  States  becoming  free.  Those  ser- 
vants that  are  free,  the  benevolent  and  generous  Aboli- 
tionists ought  to  take  North,  build  them  colleges,  and  make 
good  to  them  all  the  promises  they  held  out  as  baits  to  al- 
lure them  from  their  owners  and  their  duties." 

Mr.  Weston  found  he  had  not  two  very  attentive  lis- 
teners in  the  young  ladies,  for  they  were  returning  the 
many  salutations  they  received,  and  making  remarks  on 
their  numerous  acquaintances.  The  carriage  began  slowly 
to  ascend  Capitol  Hill,  and  they  all  remarked  the  beauti- 
ful prospect,  to  which  Washingtonians  are  so  much  accus- 
tomed that  they  are  too  apt  not  to  notice  it.  Their  ride 
was  delightful.  It  was  one  of  those  lovely  spring  days 
when  the  air  is  still  fresh  and  balmy,  and  the  promise  of  a 
summer's  sun  lights  up  nature  so  joyfully. 

There  were  many  visitors  at  the  burial-ground,  and  there 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  235 

had  been  several  funerals  that  day.  A  woman  stood  at  the 
door  of  the  house,  at  the  entrance  of  the  cemetery,  with  a 
baby  in  her  arms  ;  and  another  child  of  two  years  old  was 
playing  around  a  large  bier,  that  had  been  left  there  until 
it  should  be  wanted  again. 

Mrs.  W eston  met  with  an  acquaintance,  soon  after  they 
entered  the  ground,  and  they  stopped  to  converse,  while 
Mr.  Weston  and  the  younger  ladies  walked  on.  Near  a 
large  vault  >they  stopped-a  moment,  surprised  to  see  two  or 
three  little  boys  playing  at  marbles.  They  were  ruddy, 
healthy-looking  boys,  marking  out  places  in  the  gravel 
path  for  the  game  ;  shooting,  laughing,  and  winning,  and  so 
much  occupied  that  if  death  himself  had  .come  along  on  his 
pale  horse,  they  would  have  asked  him  to  wait  a  while  till 
they  could  let  him  pass,  if  indeed  they  had  seen  him  at  all. 
Mr.  Weston  tried  to  address  them  several  times,  but  they 
could  not  attend  to  him  until  the  game  was  completed,  when 
one  of  them  sprang  upon  the  vault  and  began  to  count  over 
his  marbles,  and  the  others  sat^  down  on  a  low  monument 
to  rest. 

"  Boys,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "  I  am  very  sorry  to  see  you 
playing  marbles  in  a  burial-ground.  Don't  .you  see  all 
these  graves  around  you?" 

"We  don't  go  on  the  dead  people,"  said  an  honest-faced 
little  fellow.  «  You  see  the  grass  is  wet  there  ;  we  play 
here  in  the  walk,  where  its  nice  and  dry." 

"But  you  ought  to  play  outside,"  said  Mr.  Weston. 
"This  is  too  sacred  a  place  to  be  made  the  scene  of  your 
amusements." 

"We  don't  hurt  any  body,"  said  the  largest  boy. 
"When  people  are  dead  they  don't  hear  nothin;  where's 
the  harm?" 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "there's  one  thing  certain, 
none  of  you  have  any  friends  buried  here.  If  you  had,  you 
would  not  treat  them  so  unkindly." 

"  My  mother  is  buried  over  yonder,"  said  the  boy  on  the 


236  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 


vault ;   "  and  if  I  thought  there  was  any  thing  unkind  in  it, 
I  would  never  come  here  to  play  again." 

"You  are  a  good  boy,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "I  hope  you 
will  keep  your  word.  If  you  were  buried  there,  I  am  sure 
your  mother  would  be  very  sad  and  quiet  by  your  grave." 

The  boy  drew  the  string  to  his  bag,  and  walked  off  with- 
out looking  back. 

"I  wish,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  " you  would  all  follow  his 
example.  We  should  always  be  respectful  in  our  con- 
duct, when  we  are  in  a  burial-ground." 

As  soon  as  they  were  gone,  the  boys  laughed  and  marked 
out  another  game. 

Mrs:  Weston  joined  her  party,  and  they  went  towards 
the -new  portion  of  the  cemetery  that  is  so  beautifully 
situated,  near  the  river. 

"I  think,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "this  scene  should  remind 
us  of  our  conversation  this  morning.  If  Washington  be 
the  meeting-place  of  all  living,  it  is  tjhe  grand  cemetery  of 
the  dead.  Look  around  us  here !  We  see  monuments  to 
Senators  and  Members ;  graves  of  foreigners  and  stran- 
gers.; names  of  the  great,  the  rich,  the  powerful,  men  of 
genius  and  ambition.  Strewed  along  are  the  poor,  the 
lowly,  the  unlearned,  the  infant,  and  the  little  child; 

"Read  the  inscriptions — death  has  come  at  last,  watched 
and  waited  for ;  or  he  has  come  suddenly,  unexpected,  and 
undesired.  There  lies  an  author,  a  bride,  a  statesman, 
side  by  side.  A  little  farther  off  is  that  simple,  but  beau- 
ful  monument." 

They  approached,  and  Alice  read  the  line  that  was  in- 
scribed around  a  cross  sculptured  in  it,  "  Other  refuge 
have  I  none!"  Underneath  was  her  name,  "Angeline." 

"How  beautiful,  how  much  more  so  in  its  simplicity 
than  if  it  had  been  ornamented,  and  a  labored  epitaph 
written  upon  it,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "Here  too  are  mem- 
bers of  families,  assembled  in  one  great  family.  As  we 
walk  along,  we  pass  mothers,  and  husbands,  and  children ; 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  237 

but  in  life,  they  who  lie  here  together,  were  possibly  all 
strangers." 

"What  is  that  large  vault  open  to-day  for  ?"  said  Ellen, 
to  a  man  who  seemed  to  have  some  charge  in  the  place. 

"That  is  the  public  receptacle,"  said  the  man.  "We 
are  obliged  to  air  it  very  often,  else  we  could  never  go  in 
and  out  with  the  coffins  we  put  there.  There's  a  good 
many  in  there  now." 

"Who  is  there?" 'said  Mr.  Weston. 

"Well,"  said  the  man,  "Mrs.  Madison  is  there,  for  one, 
and  there  are  some  other  people,  who  are  going  to  be  moved 
soon.  Mrs.  Madison,  she's  going  to  be  moved,  too,  some 
time  or  another,  but  I  don't  know  when." 

Ellen  stooped  down  and  looked  in,  but  arose  "quickly 
and  turned  away.  Two  gentlemen  were  standing  near 
observing  her,  and  one  of  them  smiled  as  she  stepped  back 
from  the  vault.  Mr.  Weston  knew  this  person  by  sight ; 
he  was  a  clergyman  of  great  talent,  and  almost  equal  eccen- 
tricity, and  often  gave  offence  by  harshness  of  manner,  when 
he 'was  only  anxious  to  do  good  to  the  cause  in"  which  his 
heart  was  absorbed. 

"Ah!  young  ladies,"  he  said,  looking  kindly  at  them 
both,  "this  is  a  good  place  for  you  to  come  to.  You  are 
both  beautiful,  and  it  may  be  wealthy;  and  I  doubt  not,  in 
the  enjoyments  of  the  passing  season,  you  have  forgotten 
all  about  death  and  the  grave.  But,  look  you !  in  there, 
lies  the  mortal  remains  of  Mrs.  Madison.  What  an  influ- 
ence she  had  in  this  gay  society,  which  you  have  doubtless 
adorned.  Her  presence  was  the  guarantee  of  propriety,  as 
well  as  of  social  and  fashionable  enjoyment ;  the  very  con- 
trast that  she  presented  to  her  husband  made  her  more 
charming.  Always  anxious  to  please,  she  was  constantly 
making  others  happy.  She  gave  assistance  and  encourage- 
ment to  all,  when  it  was  in  her  power.  She  had  more 
political  influence  than  any  woman  in  our  country  has  had, 
before  or  since.  But  think  of  her  now !  You  could  not 


238  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OB. 

bear  to  approach  the  coffin  that  contains  her  remains. 
Where  is  her  beauty — and  her  grace  and  talent  ?  Ah ! 
young  ladies,"  he  continued,  "  did  she  rightly  use  those 
talents?" 

"  It  is  hardly  a  fair  question  to  ask^now,"  said  Mr.  Wes- 
ton.  "Let  us  tread  lightly  o'er  the  ashes  of  the  dead." 

"Let  the  living  learn  a  lesson  from  the  dead,"  said  the 
clergyman,  sternly.  "You  are  leading,  it  may  be,  a  heart- 
less life  of  pleasure,  but,  young  ladies,  forget  not  this  grave. 
She  could  not  escape  it,  nor  will  you.  Pause  from  your 
balls,  and  your  theatres,  and  your  gay  doings,  and  ask, 
what  is  the  end  of  it  all.  Trifle  not  with  the  inestimable 
gift"  of  life.  Be  not  dead  while  you  live/  Anticipate  not 
the  great  destroyer.  Hear  the  appeal  of  one  who  was  once 
the  idol  of  every  heart ;  she  speaks  to  you  from  the  grave, 
'Even  as  I  am,  shalt  thou  be  !' ' 

He  turned  from  them,  and  wandered  over  the  ground. 
Mr.  Weston  led  the  way  to  the  carriage,  and  Ellen  and 
Alice  thought,  that  if  a  lesson  of  life  was  to  be  learned  in 
the  gay  ball  of  the  night  before,  a  still  more  necessary 
one  was  found  in  the  cemetery  which  they  were  now 
leaving,  as  the  shadows  of  the  evening  were  on  the  simple 
monument  and  the  sculptured  slab,  and  their  silent  te- 
nants slept  on,  undisturbed  by  the  gambols  of  thoughtless 
children,  or  the  conversation  of  the  many  who  came  to 

visit  their  abode. 

*  *  ,  *  *  * 

The  next  morning,  Bacchus  brought  no  letter  for  Mr. 
Weston,  but  one  for  each  lady ;  for  Ellen  from  her  aunt, 
for  Alice*  from  Arthur,  and  Cousin  Janet's  handwriting 
was  easily  recognized  on  the  outside  of  Mrs.  Weston's. 
Hardly  had  the  girls  arisen  from  the  table  to  take  theirs' 
to  their  rooms  for  a  -  quiet  perusal,  when  an  exclamation 
from  Mrs.  Weston,  detained  them. 

tf  Is  anything  the  matter  at  home,  Anna?"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  "Is  Cousin  Janet ?" 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT    IS.  239 


"  Cousin  Janet  is  well,  my  dear  brother,"  said  Mrs. 
"Weston.  "  I  was  very  thoughtless,  but  our  dear  neighbor, 
Mrs.  Kent,  is  no  more." 

«  Can  it  be  possible  ?"  said  Mr.  "VYeston,  much  agitated. 
"Read  the  letter  aloud." 

Mrs.  Weston,  turned  to  the  beginning,  and  read  aloud, 

"  MY  DEAR  ANNA  : 

"  The  time  is  near  which  will  bring  you  all  in  health  and 
happiness,  I  trust,  to  your  home ;  and  could  you  see  how 
lovely  it  looks,  I  think  you  would  be  tempted  to  fix  upon 
an  earlier  day.  You  see  how  selfish  I  am,  but  I  confess 
that  I  quite1  count  the  days,  as  a  child  does  to  Christmas, 
and  am  ashamed  of  my  impatience. 

"  Throughout  the  winter  I  had  no  care.  My  kind  friends 
did  all  the  housekeeping,  and  the  servants  in  the  house, 
and  on  the  plantation,  were  so  faithful,  that  I  feel  indebted 
to  all  who  have  made  my  time  so  easy;  and  your  absence 
has  not,  I  am  sure,  been  attended  with  any  ill  effects,  with- 
out you  find  me  a  little  cross  and  complaining,*  and  Mr. 
Barbour  out  of  his  senses  with  joy,  on  your  return. '  Good 
Mr.  Barbour !  he  has  superintended  and^  encouraged  the 
servants,  and  visited  us  forlorn  ladies  frequently,  so  that 
he  must  come  in  for  a  portion  of  our  thanks  too. 

"You  will  perhaps  think  I  ought  only  to  write  you  cheer- 
ful news,  but  it  is  best  to  let  you  know  as  well  as  I  can, 
the  condition  that  you  will  find  us  in,  on  your  return. 
Phillis  is  the  only  one  of  us,  whose  concerns  are  of  any 
immediate  importance,  but  I  am  sorry  to  have  to  tell  you 
that  she  is  now  seriously  indisposed.  Her  cough  has  never 
really  yielded — her  other  symptoms  have  varied;  but  for 
the  last  few  weeks,  her  disease  has  not  only  progressed, 
but  assumed  a  certain  form.  She  is  in  consumption,  and 
has  no  doubt  inherited  the  disease  from  her  mother. 

"I  have,  throughout  the  winter,  felt  great  anxiety  about 
her,  and  have  not  permitted  her  to  work,  though  some- 


240  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


times  I  found  it  hard  to  prevent  her.  Her  children  have 
been  constantly  with  her ;  indeed,  I  have  passed  a  great 
deal  of  my  own  time  in  her  cabin,  which,  under  Martha's 
superintendence,  is  so  neat  and  comfortable. 

"  You  will  all  perhaps  blame  me  that  I  have  not  been  thus 
plain  with  you  before,  but  Dr.  Lawton  said  it  was  not  ne- 
cessary, as  she  has  never  been  in  any  immediate  danger, 
and  Phillis  would  not  consent  to  my  doing  so.  She  wanted 
you  to  enjoy  yourselves,  and  Alice  to  have  a  good  chance 
to  regain  her  health.  <No  doubt>  Miss  Janet/  she  said, 
<  the  Lord  will  spare  me  to  see  them  yet,  and  I  have  every 
thing  I  want  now — they  couldn't  stop  my  pains  any  more 
than  you,  and  I  feel  that  I  am  in  the  Lord's  hands,  and  I 
am  content  to  be.'  She  has  not  been  confined  to  her  bed, 
but  is  fast  losing  strength,  though  from  my  window  now 
I  see  her  tying  up  her  roses,  that  are  beginning  to  bud. 
Some  other  hand  than  hers  will  care  .for  them  when 
another  Spring  shall  come. 

"Her  nights  are  very  restless,  and  she  is  much  exhausted 
from  constant  spitting  of  blood ;  the  last  week  of  plea- 
sant weather  has  been  of  service  to  her,  and  the  prospect 
of  seeing  you  all  at  home  gives  her  the  most  unfeigned 
pleasure. 

"  I  have  even  more  painful  intelligence  to  give  you.  Our 
young  neighbor,  Mrs.  Kent,  has  done  with  all  her  trials, 
and  I  trust  they  sanctified  her,  in  preparation  for  the  early 
and  unexpected  death  which  has  been  her  lot.  You  are 
not  yet  aware-  of  the  extent  of  her  trials.  A  fortnight 
ago  her  little  boy  was  attacked  with  scarlet  fever,  in  its 
most  violent  form.  From  the  first'  moment  of  his  illness 
his  case  was  hopeless,  and  he  only  suffered  twenty-four 
hours.  I  went  over  as  soon  as  I  heard  of  his  death ;  the 
poor  mother's  condition  was  really  pitiable.  She  was 
helpless  in  her  sorrow,  which  was  so  unexpected  as  to  de- 
prive her  at  first  of  the  power  of  reason.  The  Good 
Shepherd  though,  had  not  forgotten  her — he  told  her  that 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  241 


he  had  taken  her  little  lamb,  and  had  gently  folded  it  in 
his  bosom,  and  that  he  would  wander  with  it  in  the  lovely 
pastures  of  Paradise,  She  was  soon  perfectly  reconciled 
to  the  sad  dispensation ;  sad  indeed,  for  the  child  was  her 
only  earthly  solace.  Victim  of  an  unhappy  marriage,  the 
dear  engaging  little  boy  was  a  great  consolation  to  her, 
and  his  amusement  and  instruction  occupied  her  mind, 
and  passed  away  happily  many  a  weary  hour. 

"  She  insisted  upon  attending  the  funeral,  and  I  ac- 
companied her.,  Mr.  Kent  was  with  her,  too,  much  dis- 
tressed, for  this  hard  man  loved  his  child,  and  keenly  felt 
his  loss. 

"  She  got  out  of  the  carriage  to  hear  the  funeral  service 
read,  and  was  calm  until  they  took  up  the  coffin  to  lower 
it  into  the  grave.  Then  it  was  impossible  to  control  her. 
Placing  her  arms  upon  it,  she  looked  around  appealingly 
to  -  the  men ;  and  so  affected  were  they,  that  they  turned 
from  her  to  wipe  away  their  own  tears.  Her  strength 
gave  way  under  the  excitement,  and  she  was  carried,  in- 
sensible, to  the  carriage,  and  taken  home. 

<f  I  found  her  very  feverish,  and  did  not  like  to  leave  her, 
thinking  it  probable  that  she  might  also  have  the  disease 
which  had  carried  off  her  child.  Before  night  she  became 
really  ill,  and  Dr.  Lawton  pronounced  her  complaint  scar- 
let fever.  The  disease  was  fearfully  rapid,  and  soon 
ended  her  life.  She  was,  I  think,  well  prepared  to  go. 
Her  solemn  and  affectionate  farewell  to  her  husband  can- 
not fail  to  make  an  impression  upon  him. 

"I  shall  have  a  great  deal  to  tell  you  of  her  when  you 
return.  The  past  winter  has  been  a  sad  one ;  a  constant 
coolness  existing  between  her  and  her  husband.  A  short 
time  ago  he  was  brutally  striking  that  faithful  old  man  of 
her  father's,  Robert,  and  Mrs.  Kent  interfered,  insisting 
upon  Robert's  returning  jt&h-is  cabin,  and  in  his  presence 
forbidding  Mr.  Kent  again  to  raise  his  hand  against  one 
servant  on  the  plantation;  Mr.  Carter's  will,  allowing 

21 


242  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OK, 


Mr.  Kent  no  authority  over  his  servants,  and  commending 
them  to  his  daughter's  kindness  and  care,  showed  great 
discrimination  of  character.  This,  though,  has  been  a 
constant  source  of  irritation  to  Mr.  Kent,  and  he  has 
never  been  kind  to  the  people.  Mrs.  Kent,  usually  so 
timid,  was  roused  into  anger  by  his  treatment  of  Robert, 
and  interfered,  as  I  have  related  to  you.  She  told  me  of 
this,  and  said  how  unhappy  it  had  made  her,  though  she 
could  not  blame  herself.  Since  then  there  has  only  been 
a  formal  politeness  between  them  ;  Mr.  Kent  not  forgiving 
his  wife  for  the  part  she  took  against  him.  Poor  little 
woman !  Robert  had  been  her  father's  faithful  nurse  in 
his  long  illness,  and  I  do  not  wonder  at.  her  feelings  on 
seeing  him  struck. 

"  Yesterday  the  will  was  read,  arid  Dr*  Lawton,  who  was 
present,  informed  us  of  the  result.  Mrs.  Kent  has  left 
most  of  her  property  to  her  husband,  but  her  servants 
free !  The  plantation  is  to  be  sold,  and  the  proceeds  ex- 
pended in  preparing  those  who  are  willing  to  go  to  Liberia, 
or  where  they  choose;  as  they  cannot,  manumitted,  re- 
main in  Virginia.  The  older  servants,  who  prefer  stay- 
ing in  Virginia  as  they  are,  she  has  left  to  you,  with 
an  allowance  for  their  support,  considering  you  as  a 
kind  of  guardian ;  for  in  no  other  way  could  she  have 
provided  for  their  staying  here,  which  they  will  like 
better. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  she  could  have  made  so  wise 
a  will  ? 

"  Dr.  Lawton  says  that  Mr.  Kent  showed  extreme  anger 
on  hearing  it  read.  He  intends  returning  to  the  North, 
and  his  $30,000  will  be  a  clear  gain,  for  I  am  told  he  had 
not  a  cent  when  he  married  her. 

"Write  me  when  you  have  fixed  the  time  for  your 
return,  and  believe  me,  with  love  to  all, 

"  Your  affectionate  relative, 

JANET  WILMER." 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  248 


Bacchus  entered  in  time  to  hear  the  latter  part  of  this 
letter.  He  had  his  master's  boots  in  his  hands.  When 
Mrs.  Weston  stopped  reading,  he  said,  "  That's  good ;  bound 
for  Mister  Kent.  I'm  glad  he's  gwine,  like  Judas,  to  his 
own  place." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE  carriage  was  slowly  ascending  the  road  to  the  old 
church,  a  familiar  and  dear  object  to  each  member  of  the 
Weston  family.  A  village  churchyard  fills  up  so  gradu- 
ally, that  one  is  riot  startled  with  a  sudden  change.  Mr. 
Weston  looked  from  the  window  at  the  ivy,  and  the  gothic 
windows,  and  the  family  vault,  where  many  of  his  name 
reposed. 

The  inmates  of  the  carriage  had  been  conversing  cheer- 
fully, but  as  they  approached  the  point  where  they  would 
see  home,  eftch  one  was  occupied  with  his  or  her  musings. 
Occasionally,  a  pleasant  .word  was  exchanged,  on  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  well-known  neighborhood,  the  balmy  air, 
and  the  many  shades  of  green  that  the  trees  presented ; 
some  of  them  loaded  with  white  and  pink  blossoms,  pro- 
mising still  better  things  when  the  season  should  ad- 
vance. 

Alice  leaned  from  the  window,  watching  for  the  first 
glimpse  of  the  well-remembered  house.  She  greeted  every 
tree .  they  passed  with  a  lively  look,  and  smiled  gaily  as 
the  porter's  lodge  presented  itself.  The  gates  of  it  flew 
open  as  the  carriage  approached,  and  Exeter  in  its  beauty 
met  their  view.  "  Oh,  uncle,"  she  said,  turning  from  the 
window,  "  look !  look  !  Is  there  any  place  in  the  world 
like  this?" 

"  No,  indeed,  Alice;"  and  he  took  a  survey  of  the  home 


244  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OR, 

which  had  been  so  blessed  to  him.  "  How  beautiful  every 
thing  looks !  and  how  we  will  enjoy  it,  after  a  crowded,  noisy 
hotel.  Anna,  you  are  not  sorry  to  see  it's  familiar  face 
again.  Ellen,  my  darling,  we  have  not  forgotten  you — 
Exeter  is  your  home,  too;  you  are  as  welcome  as  any  of 
us.  Why,  you  look  sober;  not  regretting  Washington 
already?" 

"No  sir,"  said  Ellen,  "I  was  thinking  of  other  things." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  "we  must  look  very  happy 
this  evening.  I  wonder,  Ellen,  Mr.  Barbour  has  not 
met  us." 

"I  suppose,"  said  Alice,  laughing,  "he  is  too  much 
agitated  at  the  thought  of  meeting  Ellen  again — he  will 
be  over  this  evening,  I  dare  say." 

"I  am  sorry  I  can't  keep  my  word  with  Mr.  Barbour," 
said  Ellen,  "  but  I  have  concluded  to  marry  Abel  Johnson, 
on  Arthur's  recommendation,  and  I  ought  not  -to  give  good 
Mr.  Barbour  any  false  expectations." 

"You  must  know,  dear  uncle,"  said  Alice,  "that  Ellen 
and  Arthur  have  been  carrying  on  a  postscript  correspon- 
dence in  my  letters,  and  Arthur  has  turned  matchmaker, 
and  has  been  recommending  Abel  Johnson  to  Ellen.  They 
have  fallen  in  love  with  each  other,  without  having  met, 
and  that  was  the  reason  Ellen  was  so  hard-hearted  last 
winter." 

"Ah  !  that  is  the  reason.  But  you  must  take  care  of 
these  Yankee  husbands,  Miss  Ellen,  if  Mr.  Kent  be  a  spe- 
cimen," said  Mrs.  Weston. 

"I  am  quite  sure,"  said  Alice,  "Arthur  would  not  have 
such  a  friend." 

Mr.  Weston  smiled,  and  looked  out  again  at  home. 
They  were  rapidly  approaching  the  gates,  and  a  crowd 
of  little  darkies  were  holding  them  open  on  each  side. 
"I  wish  Arthur  were  here,"  said  he.  "How  long  he 
has  been  away  !  I  associate  him  with  every  object  about 
the  place," 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  245 


Alice  did  not  answer ;  Arthur  was  in  her  thoughts.  This 
was  his  home,  every  object  with  which  she  was  surrounded 
breathed  of  him.  She  had  thought  of  it  as  her  home,  but 
she  had  no  right  here — she  was  really  only  a  guest.  The 
thought  was  new  and  painful  to  her.  Could  the  whole  of 
her  past  existence  have  been  dreamed  away  ? — had  she  in- 
deed no  claim  to  the  place  she  loved  best  on  earth — was  she 
dependant  on  the  will  of  others  for  all  the  gay  and  joyous 
emotions  that  a  few  moments  before  filled  her  breast  ?  She 
thought  again  of  Arthur,  of  his  handsome  appearance,  his 
good  and  generous  heart,  his  talents,  and  his  unchanging 
love  to  her — of  Walter,  and  of  all  with  which  he  had  had 
to  contend  in  the  springtime  of  his  life.  Of  his  faults, 
his  sin,  and  his  banishment ;  of  his  love  to  her,  too,  and 
the  delusion  under  which  she  had  labored,  of  her  returning 
it.  Arthur  would,  ere  long,  know  it  all,  and  though  he 
might  forgive,  her  proud  spirit  rebelled  at  the  idea  that  he 
would  also  blame. 

She  looked  at  her  uncle,  whose  happy  face  was  fixed  on 
the  home  of  his  youth  and  his  old  age — a  sense  of  his  pro- 
tecting care  and  affection  came  over  her.  What  might  the 
short  summer  bring?  His  displeasure,  too — then  there 
would  be  no  more  for  her,  but  to  leave  Exeter  with  all  its 
happiness. 

Poor  child !  for,  at  nearly  nineteen,  Alice  was  only  a 
child.  The  possibility  overpowered  her,  she  leant  against 
her  uncle's  bosom,  and  wept  suddenly  and  violently. 

"  Alice,  what  is  the  matter  ?"  said  her  mother.  "Are 
you  ill?" 

"What  is  the  matter?"  said  her  uncle,  putting  his  arm 
around  her,  and  looking  alarmed. 

"Nothing  at  all,"  said  Alice,  trying  to  control  herself. 
"  I  was  only  thinking  of  all  your  goodness  to  me,  and  how 
I  love  you." 

"  Is  that  all,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  pressing  her  more 
closely  to  his  bosom.  "Why,  the  sight  of  home  has  turned 


246  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


your  little  head.  Come,  dry  up  your  tears,  for  my  old 
eyes  can  distinguish  the  hall  door,  and  the  servants  about 
the  house  collecting  to  meet  us." 

"I  can  see  dear  Cousin  Janet,  standing  within — how 
happy  she  will  be,"  said  Mrs.  Weston. 

"  Well,"  said  Ellen,  "I  hope  Abel  will  make  a  fuss  over 
me,  for  nobody  else  ever  has." 

"If  you  are  to  be  married,"  said  Alice,  smiling  through 
her  tears,  "you  must  have  his  name  changed,  or  always 
call  him  Mr.  Johnson." 

«  Never,"  said  Ellen.  "  I  have  a  perfect  passion  for  the 
name  of  Abel.  There  was  a  picture  in  my  room  of  Abel 
lying  down,  and  Cain  standing,  holding  the  club  over  him. 
Whenever  I  got  into  a  passion  when  I  was  a  child,  mammy 
used  to  take  me  to  the  picture  and  say,  'Look  there, 
honey,  if  you  don't  learn  how  to  get  the  better  of  your 
temper,  one  of  these  days  you  will  get  in  a  passion  like 
Cain  and  kill  somebody.  Just  look  at  him,  how  ugly  he 
is — because  he's  in  such  a  rage.  But  I  always  looked  at 
Abel,  who  was  so  much  prettier.  I  have  no  doubt  Abel 
Johnson  looks  just  as  he  does  in  the  picture." 

They  were  about  to  pass  through  the  gates  leading  to 
the  grounds;  some  of  the  servants  approached  the  car- 
riage, and  respectfully  bowing,  said,  'Welcome  home,  mas- 
ter," but  passed  on  without  waiting  to  have  the  salutation 
returned.  Mrs.  Weston  guessed  the  cause  of  there  not 
being  a  general  outbreak  on  the  occasion  of  their  return. 
Miss  Janet  had  spoken  to  a  number  of  the  servants,  telling 
them  how  unable  Mr.  Weston  was  to  bear  any  excitement, 
and  that  he  would  take  the  earliest  opportunity  of  seeing 
them  all  at  their  cabins.  As  he  was  much  attached  to 
them  and  might  feel  a  good  deal  at  the  meeting  after  so 
long  a -separation,  it  would  be  better  not  to  give  him  a 
noisy  welcome. 

She  had,  however,  excepted  the  children  in  this  prohibi- 
tion, for  Miss  Janet  had  one  excellent  principle  in  the 


SOUTHERN   LIFE    AS   IT   IS.  247 


management  of  children,  she  never  forbade  them  doing 
what  she  knew  they  could  not  help  doing.  Thus,  as  the 
carriage  passed  the  lodge,  a  noisy  group  of  small-sized 
darkies  were  making  a  public  demonstration.  "  Massa's 
come  home,"  says  one.  "I  sees  Miss  Alice,"  says  an- 
other. "I  sees  Miss  Anna,  too,"  said  a  third,  though,  as 
yet,  not  a  face  was  visible  to  one  of  them.  They  put 
their  heads  out  of  the  carriage,  notwithstanding,  to  speak 
to  them,  and  Alice  emptied  a  good-sized  basket  of  sugar- 
plums, which  she  had  bought  for  the  purpose,  over  their 
heads. 

"Take  care,  Mark,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "don't  cut  about 
with  that  whip,  while  all  these  children  are  so  near." 

"If  I  didn't,  sir,"  said  Mark,  some  of  'em  would  a  been 
scrunched  under  the  carriage  wheels  'fore  now.  These 
little  niggers,"  he  muttered  between  his  teeth,  "they're 
always  in  the  way.  I  wish  some  of  'em  would  get  run 
over."  Mark's  wife  was  not  a  very  amiable  character,  and 
she  had  never  had  any  children. 

"Hurrah!  daddy,  is  that  you?"  said  an  unmistakeable 
voice  proceeding  from  the  lungs  of  Bacchus  the  younger. 
"  I  been  dansin  juba  dis  hole  blessed  day — I  so  glad  you 
come.  Ask  mammy  if  I  aint?" 

"  How  is  your  mother,  Bacchus  ?"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
looking  out  the  window. 

"Mammy,  she's  well,"  said  the  young  gentleman; 
"how's  you,  master  ?" 

"Very  well,  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Mr.  "Weston.  <iGo 
down  there  and  help  pick  up  the  sugar-plums." 

Bacchus  the  elder,  now  slid  down  from  the  seat  by 
Mark,  and  took  a  short  cut  over  to  his  cabin. 

"Poor  Aunt  Phillis  !"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  looking  after 
him,  "  I  hope  she  will  get  well." 

"Ah!"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "I  had  forgotten  Phillis  on 
this  happy  day.  There  is  something,  you  see,  Anna,  to 
make  us  sigh,  even  in  our  happiest  -moments. 


248  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN  ;    OR, 

"But  you  shall  not  sigh,  dearest  uncle,"  said  Alice, 
kissing  his  hand,  "for  Aunt  Phillis  will  get  well  now  that 
we  are  all  back.  Oh,  there  is  Cousin  Janet,  and  little 
Lydia — I  wish  the  carriage  would  stop." 

"You  are  the  most  perfect  child  I  ever  saw,  Alice," 
said  Mrs.  Weston.  " I  think  you  are  out  of  your  senses 
at  the  idea  of  getting  home." 

The  carriage  wheeled  round,  and  William  let  down  the 
steps,  with  a  face  bright  as  a  sunflower.  Miss  Janet 
stood  at  the  top  of  the  portico  steps,  in  her  dove-colored 
gown,  and  her  three-cornered  handkerchief,  with  open 
arms.  Alice  bounded  like  a  deer,  and  was. clasped  within 
them.  Then  Mrs.  Weston,  then  Ellen;  and  afterwards, 
the  aged  relatives  warmly  embraced  each  other.  Little 
Lydia  was  not  forgotten,  they  all  shook  hands  with  her, 
but  Alice,  who  stooped  to  kiss  her  smooth,  black  cheek. 
William  was  then  regularly  shaken  hands  with,  and  the 
family  entered  the  large,  airy  hall,  and  were  indeed  at 
home. 

Here  were  collected  all  the  servants  employed  about  the 
house,  each  in  a  Sunday  dress,  each  greeted  with  a  kind 
word.  Alice  shook  hands  with  them  two  or  three  times 
over,  then  pointing  to  the  family  pictures,  which  were 
arranged  along  the  hall,  "Look  at  them,  uncle,"  said 
she;  "did  you  ever  see  them  so  smiling  before?" 

They  went  to  the  drawing-room,  all  but  Alice,  who  flew 
off  in  another  direction. 

"  She  is  gone  to  see  Phillis,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  gazing  after 
her.  "Well,  I  will  rest  a  few  moments,  and  then  go  too." 

Never  did  mother  hold  to  her  heart  a  child  dearer  to  her, 
than  Phillis,  when  she  pressed  Alice  to  her  bosom.  Alice 
had  almost  lived  with  her,  when  she,  and  Walter,  and  Arthur 
were  children.  Mrs.  Weston  knew  that  she  could  not  be 
in  better  hands  than  under  the  care  of  so  faithful  and 
respectable  a  servant.  Phillis  had  a  large,  old  clothes' 
basket,  where  she  kept  the  toys,  all  the  little  plates  and 


SOUTHERN    LIFE  AS    IT   IS.  249 


cups  with  which  they  played  dinner-party,  the  dolls  with- 
out noses,  and  the  trumpets  that  would  not  blow.  Her 
children  were  not  allowed  to  touch  them  'when  the  owners 
were  not  there,  but  they  took  a  conspicuous  part  in  the  play, 
being  the  waiters  and  ladies'  maids  and  coach-drivers  of  the 
little  gentlemen  and  Alice.  After  Walter  and  Arthur  went 
away,  Alice  was  still  a  great  deal  with  Phillis,  and  she, 
regarding  her  as  Arthur's  future  wife,  loved  her  for  him  as 
well  as  for  herself.  Alice  loved  Phillis,  too,  and  all  her 
children,  and  they  considered  her  as  a  little  above  mortality. 
Bacchus  used  to  insist,  when  she  was  a  child,  that  she  never 
would  live,  she  was  too  good.  When,  during  her  severe 
illness,  Phillis  would  go  to  her  cabin  to  look  around,  Bac- 
chus would  greet  her  with  a  very  long  face,  and  say,  "  I  told 
you  so.  I  know'd  Miss  Alice  would  be  took  from  us  all." 
Since  her  recovery,  he  had  stopped  prophesying  about  her. 

"Aunt  Phillis,"  said  Alice,  "you  don't  look  very  sick. 
I  reckon  you  will  work  when  you  ought  not.  Now  I  in- 
tend to  watch  you,  and  make  you  mind,  so  that  you  will 
soon  be  well." 

"I  am  a  great  deal  better  than  I  was,  Miss  Alice,  but 
there's  no  knowing;  howsomever,  I  thank  the  Lord  that 
he  has  spared  me  to  see  you  once  more.  I  want  to  give 
Master  time  to  talk  to  Miss  Janet  a  little  while,  then  I  am 
going  in  to  see  him  and  Miss  Anna." 

" Oh !  come  now,"  said  Alice,  "or -he  will  be  over  here." 

Phillis  got  up,  and  walked  slowly  to  the  house,  Alice  at 
her  side,  and  Bacchus  stumping  after  her.  As  they  went 
in,  Alice  tripped  on  first,  and  opened  the  drawing-room 
door,  making  way  for  Phillis,  who  looked  with  a  happy 
expression  of  face  towards  her  master. 

"Is  this  you,  Phillis?"  said  Mr.  Weston,  coming  forward, 
and  taking  her  hand  most  kindly.  Mrs.  Weston  and  Ellen 
got  up  to  shake  hands  with  her,  too.  "  I  am  very  glad  to 
find  you  so  much  better  than  I  expected,"  continued  Mr. 
Weston;  "you  are  thin,  but  your  countenance  is  g'ood. 


250  AUNT  PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


I  hope  you  will  get  perfectly  well,  now  that  we  are  going 
to  have  summer  weather." 

"Thank  you",  sir,"  said  Phillis.  "I  am  a  great  deal 
better.  Thank  God,  you  all  look  so  well,  Miss  Anna  and 
all.  Miss  Janet  began  to  be  mighty  lonesome.  I've  been 
a  great  trouble  to  her." 

"No,  you  have  not,"  said  Miss  Janet;  "you  never  were 
a  trouble  to  any  one." 

"Master,"  said  Bacchus,  "I  think  the  old  ooman  looks 
right  well.  She  aint  nigh  so  bad  as  we  all  thought.  I 
reckon  she  couldn't  stand  my  bein  away  so  long ;  she  hadn't 
nobody  to  trouble  her." 

"You  will  never  give  her  any  more  trouble,"  said  Alice. 
"Aunt  Phillis,  you  don't  know  how  steady  Uncle  Bacchus 
has  been;  he  is  getting  quite  a  temperance  man." 

"Old  Nick  got  the  better  of  me  twice,  though,"  said 
Bacchus.  "I  did  think,  master,  of  tryin  to  make  Phillis 
b'lieve  I  hadn't  drank  nothin  dis  winter ;  but  she'd  sure  to 
find  me  out.  There's  somefin  in  her  goes  agin  a  lie." 

"But  that  was  doing  very  well,"  said  Alice;  "don't 
you  think  so,  Aunt  Phillis  ?  Only  twice  all  through  the 
winter." 

"Its  an  improvement,  honey,"  said  Phillis;  "but  what's 
the  use  of  getting  drunk  at  all  ?  When  we  are  thirsty, 
water  is  better  than  any  thing  else ;  and  when  we  aint 
thirsty,  wrhat's  the  use  of  drinking?" 

Phillis  had  been  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  that  Mrs. 
Weston  had  placed  for  her.  When  she  first  came  in,  her 
face  was  a  little  flushed  from  pleasure,  and  the  glow  might 
have  been  mistaken  as  an  indication  of  health.  The  emo- 
tion passed,  Mrs.  Weston  perceived  there  was  a  great 
change  in  her.  She  was  excessively  emaciated;  her 
cheek-bones  prominent,  her  eyes  large  and  bright.  The 
whiteness  of  her  teeth  struck  them  all.  These  symp- 
toms, and  the  difficulty  with  which  she  breathed,  were 
tokens  of  her  disease.  She  became  much  fatigued, 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT    IS.  251 


and  Miss  Janet  advised  her  to  go  home  and  lie  down. 
"  They  shan't  tell  you  of  their  grand  doings  to-night,  Phil- 
lis," she  said;  "for  you  have  been  excited,  and  must  keep 
quiet.  In  the  morning  you  will  be  able  to  listen  to  them. 
Don't  tell  any  long  stories,  Bacchus,"  she  continued. 
"Dr.  Lawton  wants  her  to  keep  from  any  excitement  at 
night,  for  fear  she  should  not  sleep  well  after  it.  All  you 
travelers  had  better  go  to  bed  early,  and  wake  up  bright 
in  the  morning." 

Alice  went  home  with  Phillis,  and  came  back  to  welcome 
Mr.  Barbour,  who  had  just  arrived.  The  happy  evening 
glided  away ;  home  was  delightful  to  the  returned  family. 

Bacchus  gave  glowing  descriptions  of  scenes,  in  which 
he  figured  largely,  to  the  servants;  and  Bacchus  the 
younger  devoutly  believed  there  had  not  been  so  distin- 
guished a  visitor  to  the  metropolis  that  winter,  as  his 
respected  father. 

Dr.  Lawton  came  regularly  to  see  Phillis,  who  frequent- 
ly rallied.  Her  cheerfulness  made  her  appear  stronger 
than  she  was  ;  but  when  Alice  would  tell  her  how  well  she 
looked,  and  that  the  sight  of  Arthur  would  complete  her 
recovery,  she  invariably  answered,  "I  want  to  see  him 
mightily,  child ;  but  about  my  gettin  well,  there's  no  tell- 
ing. God  only  knows." 


252  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"Do  sit  down,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  Miss  Janet  to  Mr. 
Weston,  who  was  walking  up  and  down  the  drawing-room. 
"  Here,  in  August,  instead  of  being  quiet  and  trying  to 
keep  cool,  you  are  fussing  about,  and  heating  yourself  so 
uselessly." 

"I  will  try,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  smiling,  and  seating 
himself  on  the  sofa ;  but  you  must  recollect  that  for  three 
years  I  have  not  seen  my  only  son,  and  that  now  he  is 
coming  home  to  stay.  I  cannot  realize  it ;  it  is  too  much 
happiness.  We  are  so  blessed,  Cousin  Janet,  we  have  so 
much  of  this  world's  good,  I  sometimes  tremble  lest  God 
should  intend  me  to  have  my  portion  here." 

"It  is  very  wrong  to  feel  so,"  said  Cousin  Janet ;  « even 
in  this  world,  He  can. give  his  beloved  rest." 

"But  am  I  one  of  the  beloved?"  asked  Mr.  Weston, 
thoughtfully. 

"I  trust  so,"  said  Cousin  Janet.  "I  do  not  doubt  it. 
How  lamentable  would  be  your  situation  and  mine,  if, 
while  so  near  the  grave,  we  were  deprived  of  that  hope, 
which  takes  from  it  all  its  gloom." 

"Are  you  talking  of  gloom?"  said  Mrs.  Weston,  "and 
Arthur  within  a  few  miles  of  us  ?  It  is  a  poor  compliment 
to  him.  I  never  saw  so  many  happy  faces.  The  servants 
have  all  availed  themselves  of  their  afternoon's  holiday  to 
dress ;  they  look  so  respectable.  Esther  says  they  have 
gone  to  the  outer  gate  to  welcome  Arthur  first ;  Bacchus 
went  an  hour  ago.  Even  poor  Aunt  Phillis  has  brightened 
up.  She  has  on  a  head-handkerchief  and  apron  white  as 
snow,  and  looks  quite  comfortable,  propped  up  by  two  or 
three  pillows. 


SOUTHERN  LIFE   AS  IT   IS.  253 

« Arthur  will  be  sadly  distressed  to  see  Phillis,  though 
he  will  not  realize  her  condition  at  first.  The  nearer  her 
disease  approaches  its  consummation,  the  brighter  she 
looks." 

"It  seems  but  yesterday,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "that 
Phillis  sat  at  her  cabin  door,  with  Arthur  (a  baby)  in  her 
arms,  and  her  own  child,  almost  the  same  age,  in  the  cra- 
dle near  them.  She  has  been  no  eye-servant.  Faithfully 
has  she  done  her  duty,  and  now  she  is  going  to  receive  her 
reward.  I  never  can  forget  the  look  of  sympathy  which 
was  in  her  face,  when  I  used  to  go  to  her  cabin  to  see  my 
motherless  child.  She  always  gave  Arthur  the  preference, 
putting  her  own  infant  aside  to  attend  to  his  wants. 
Phillis  is  by  nature  a  conscientious  woman ;  but  nothing 
but  the  grace  of  God  could  have  given  her  the  constant 
and  firm  principle  that  has  actuated  her  life.  But  this 
example  of  Christian  excellence  will  soon  be  taken  from 
us ;  her  days  are  numbered.  Her  days  here  are  numbered ; 
but  how  blessed  the  eternity!  Sometimes,  I  have  almost 
reproached  myself  that  I  have  retained  a  woman  like 
Phillis  as  a  slave.  She  deserves  every  thing  from  me :  I 
have  always  felt  under  obligations  to  her." 

"  You  have  discharged  them,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "  Phil- 
lis, though  a  slave,  has  had  a  very  happy  life ;  she  fre- 
quently says  so.  This  is  owing,  in  a  great  measure,  to 
her  own  disposition  and  rectitude  of  character.  Yet  she 
has  had  every  thing  she  needed,  and  a  great  deal  more. 
You  have  nothing  with  which  to  reproach  yourself." 

"I  trust  not,"  said  Mr.  Weston.  "I  have  endeavored, 
in  my  dealings  with  my  servants,  to  remember  the  All- 
seeing  eye  was  upon  me,  and  that  to  Him  who  placed 
these  human  beings  in  a  dependant  position,  would  I  have 
to  render  my  account.  Ah !  here  are  the  girls.  Alice, 
we  had  almost  forgotten  Arthur ;  you  and  Ellen  remind 
us  of  him." 

"Really,"  said  Ellen,  "I  am  very  unhappy;  I  have  no 

22 


254  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

lover  to  expect.  You  see  that  I  am  arrayed  in  a  plain 
black  silk,  to  show  my  chagrin  because  JVlr.  Johnson  could 
not  come  now.  Alice  has  decked  herself  so  that  Arthur 
can  read  her  every  thought  at  the  first  glance.  She  has 
on  her  blue  barege  dress,  which  implies  her  unvarying 

constancy.     Then " 

"I  did  not  think  of  that,"  said  Alice,  blushing  deeply, 

and  looking  down  at  her  dress  ;  "  I  only " 

"Miss  Alice,"  said  Lydia,  "I  hears  somethin." 
"No,  no,"  said  Miss  Janet,  looking  from  the  window, 

"there  is  nothing " 

"  Deed  the  is,"  said  Lydia.  "Its  Mas'  Arthur's  horse,  I 
know." 

Mr.  Weston  went  out  on  the  porch,  and  the  ladies  stood 
at  the  windows.  The  voices  of  the  servants  could  be  dis- 
tinctly heard.  From  the  nature  of  the  sound,  there  was 
no  doubt  they  were  giving  a  noisy  welcome  to  their  young 
master. 

"  He  is  coming,"  said  Miss  Janet,  much  agitated ;  «  the 
servants  would  not  make  that  noise  were  he  not  in  sight." 
"I  hear  the  horses,  too,"  said  Ellen;  "we  will  soon 
see  him  where  the  road  turns." 

"There  he  comes,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  "It  must  be 
Arthur.  William  is  with  him ;  he  took  a  horse  for  Arthur 
to  the  stage  house." 

The  father  stood  looking  forward,  the  wind  gently  lift- 
ing the  thin  white  hair  from  his  temples  ;  his  cheek  flushed, 
his  clear  blue  eye  beaming  with  delight.  The  horseman 
approached.  The  old  man  could  not  distinguish  his  face, 
yet  there  was  no  mistaking  his  gay  and  gallant  bearing. 
The  spirited  and  handsome  animal  that  bore  him  flew  over 
the  gravelled  avenue.  Only  a  few  minutes  elapsed  from 
the  time  he  was  first  seen  to  the  moment  when  the  father 
laid  his  head  upon  his  son's  shoulder ;  and  while  he  was 
clasped  to  that  youthful  and  manly  heart  experienced  sen- 
sations of  joy  such  as  are  not  often  felt  here. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  255 


Alice  had  known,  too,  that  it  was  he.  But  when  we 
long  to  be  assured  of  happiness,  we  are  often  slow  to  be- 
lieve. It  was  not  until  her  eyes  could  distinguish  every 
feature  that  her  heart  said,  "It  is  Arthur."  Then  all 
was  forgotten — all  timidity,  all  reserve — all,  save  that  he 
was  the  dearly  loved  brother  of  her  childhood ;  the  being 
with  whom  her  destiny  had  long  been  associated.  She 
passed  from  the  drawing-room  to  the  porch  as  he  alighted 
from  his  horse,  and  when  his  father  released  him  from  a 
long  embrace,  Arthur's  eyes  fell  upon  the  dear  and  un- 
changed countenance,  fixed  upon  him  with  a  look  of  wel- 
come that  said  more  than  a  thousand  words. 

****** 

"  Aunt,"  said  Arthur,  a  week  after  his  return,  as  he  sat 
with  Mrs.  Weston  and  Alice  in  the  arbor,  "before  you 
came,  Alice  had  been  trying  to  persuade  me  that  she  had 
been  in  love  with  Walter  ;  but  I  can't  believe  it." 

"  I  never  did  believe  it  for  a  moment.  She  thought  she 
was,  and  she  was  seized  with  such  a  panic  of  truth  and 
honor  that  she  made  a  great  commotion;  insisted  on 
writing  to  you,  and  making  a  full  confession ;  wanted  to 
tell  her  uncle,  and  worry  him  to  death;  doing  all  sorts  of 
desperate  things.  She  actually  worked  herself  into  a 
fever.  It  was  all  a  fancy." 

"I  have  too  good  an  opinion  of  myself  to  believe  it," 
said  Arthur. 

"I  am  sorry,"  said  Alice,  "for  it  is  true.  It  is  a  pity 
your  vanity  cannot  be  a  little  diminished." 

"  Why,  the  fact  is  Alice,  I  remember  Uncle  Bacchus's 
story  about  General  Washington  and  his  servant,  when  the 
general^  horse  fell  dead,  or  rather  the  exclamation  made 
by  the  servant  after  relating .  the  incident :  « Master,  lie 
thinks  of  everything.'  I  do  too.  When  we  were  children, 
no  matter  how  bad  Walter  was,  you  took  his  part.  1^  re- 
member once  he  gave  William  such  a  blow  because  he 
stumbled  over  a  wagon  that  he  had  been  making,  and 


256  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 


broke  it.  I  asked  him  if  he  were  not  ashamed  to  do  so, 
and  you  said,  <  Hush,  Arthur,  he  feels  bad ;  if  you  felt  as 
sorry  as  he  does,  you  would  behave  just  in  the  same  way.' 
So,  the  fact  is,  last  summer  you  saw  IRQ  felt  bad,  and  your 
tender  heart  inundated  with  sympathy." 

"That  was  it,"  said  Mrs.  Weston;  "it  was  a  complete 
inundation." 

"You  are  not  in  love  with  him  now,  are  you,  Alice?" 
said  Arthur,  smiling. 

"  No,  indeed,"  said  Alice,  "  I  am  not  in  love  with  him, 
or  you  either — if  being  in  love  is  what  it  is  described  in 
novels.  I  never  have  palpitation  of  the  heart,  never  faint 
away,  and  am  not  at  all  fond  of  poetry.  I  should  make  a 
sad  heroine,  I  am  such  a  matter-of-fact  person." 

"  So  as  you  make  a  good  wife,"  said  Arthur,  "no  mat- 
ter about  being  a  heroine." 

"A  planter's  wife  has  little  occasion  for  romance," 
said  Mrs.  Weston  ;  "her  duties  are  too  many  and  too  im- 
portant. She  must  care  for  the  health  and  comfort  of  her 
family,  and  of  her  servants.  After  all,  a  hundred  ser- 
vants are  like  so  many  children  to  look  after." 

"Ellen  would  make  an  elegant  heroine,"  said  Alice. 
«  She  was  left  an  orphan  when  very  young ;  had  an  ex- 
acting uncle  and  aunt ;  was  the  belle  of  the  metropolis ; 
had  gay  and  gallant  lovers ;  is  an  heiress — and  has  fallen 
tin  love  with  a  man  she  never  saw.  To  crown  all,  he  is 
not  rich,  so  Ellen  can  give  him  her  large  fortune  to  show 
her  devotion,  and  they  can  go  all  over  the  world  together, 
and  revel  in  romance  and  novelty." 

"Well,"  said  Arthur,  "I  will  take  you  all  over  the 
world  if  you  wish  it.  When  will  you  set  out,  and  how 
will  you  travel  ?  If  that  is  all  you  complain  of  in  your 
destiny,  I  can  easily  change  it." 

"I  do  not  complain  of  my  destiny,"  said  Alice,  gaily. 
"  I  was  only  contrasting  it  with  Ellen's.  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied never  to  leave  Exeter,  and  my  migrations  need  not  be 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT    IS.  257 


more  extended  than  were  Mrs.  Primroses's,  « from  the 
green  room  to  the  brown.'  Poor  Walter !  I  wish  he 
would  fall  in  love  with  some  beautiful  Italian,  and  be  as 
happy  as  we  are." 

"  Do  not  fear  for  Walter,"  said  Mrs.  Weston.  «  He  will 
take  care  of  himself;  his  last  letter  to  Cousin  Janet  was 
very  cheerful.  I  shall  have  to  diminish  your  vanity, 
Alice,  by  telling  you  Walter  will  never  <  die  for  love  of 
Alice  Weston.'  He  will  be  captivated  some  day  with  a 
more  dashy  lady,  if  not  an  Italian  countess.  I  have  no 
doubt  he  will  eventually  become  a  resident  of  Europe.  A 
life  of  repentance  will  not  be  too  much  for  a  man  whose 
hands  are  stained  with  the  blood  of  his  fellowman.  The 
day  is  past  in  our  country,  and  I  rejoice  to  say  it,  when  a 
duellist  can  be  tolerated.  I  always  shudder  when  in  the 
presence  of  one,  though  I  never  saw  but  one." 

Mr.  Weston  now  entered,  much  depressed  from  a  recent 
interview  with  Phillis.  This  faithful  and  honored  servant 
was  near  her  departure.  Angels  were  waiting  at  the 
throne  of  the  Eternal,  for  his  command  to  bear  her  purified 

spirit  home. 

*  *  *  * 

The  master  and  the  slave  were  alone.  No  eye  save 
their  Maker's  looked  upon  them ;  no  ear  save  his,  heard 
what  passed  between  them. 

Mr.  Weston  was  seated  in  the  easy  chair,  which  had 
been  removed  from  the  other  room,  and  in  which  his  wife 
had  died. 

Phillis  was  extended  on  a  bed  of  death.  Her  thin 
hands  crossed  on  her  bosom,  her  eyes  fearfully  bright,  a 
hectic  glow  upon  her  cheek. 

"Master,"  she  said,  "you  have  no  occasion  to  feel 
uneasy  about  that.  I  have  never  had  a  want,  I  nor  the 
children.  Tnere  was  a  time,  sir,  when  I  was  restless 
about  being  a  slave.  When  I  went  with  you  and  Miss 
Anna  away  from  home,  and  heard  the  people  saying 

22* 


258  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


colored  people  ought  to  be  free,  it  made  me  feel  bad.  I 
thought  then  that  God  did  no-t  mean  one  of  his  creatures 
to  be  a  slave ;  when  I  came  home  and  considered  about  it, 
I  would  often  be  put  out,  and  discontented.  It  was 
wicked,  I  know,  but  I  could  not  help  it  for  a  while. 

"I  saw  my  husband  and  children  doing  well  and  happy, 
but  I  used  to  say  to  myself,  they  are  slaves,  and  so  am  I. 
So  I  went  about  my  work  with  a  heavy  heart.  When  my 
children  was  born,  I  would  think  <  what  comfort  is  it  to 
give  birth  to  a  child  when  I  know  its  a  slave.'  I  struggled 
hard  though,  with  these  feelings,  sir,  and  God  gave  me 
grace  to  get  the  better  of  them,  for  I  could  not  read  my 
Bible  without  seeing  there  was  nothing  agin  slavery  there ; 
and  that  God  had  told  the  master  his  duty,  and  the  slave 
his  duty.  You've  done  your  duty  by  me  and  mine,  sir ;  and 
I  hope  where  I  have  come  short  you  will  forgive  me,  for  I 
couldn't  die  in  peace,  without  I  thought  you  and  I  was  all 
right  together." 

"Forgive  you,  Phillis,"  said  Mr.  Weston, much  affected. 
"What  have  I  to  forgive  ?  Rather  do  I  thank  you  for  all 
you  have  done  for  me.  You  were  a  friend  and  nurse  to 
my  wife,  and  a  mother  to  my  only  child.  Was  ever 
servant  or  friend  so  faithful  as  you  have  been  !" 

Phillis  smiled  and  looked  very  happy.  «  Thank  you, 
master,"  she  said,  "  from  my  heart.  How  good  the 
Lord  is  to  me,  to  make  my  dying  bed  so  easy.  It  puts  me 
in  mind  of  the  hymn  Esther  sings.  She's  got  a  pleasant 
voice,  hasn't  she,  sir  ? 

'  And  while  I  feel  my  heart-strings  break, 

How  sweet  the  moments  roll ! 
A  mortal  paleness  on  my  cheek 
And  glory  in  my  soul.' 

"Oh!  master, its  sweet  for  me  to  die,  for  Jesus  is  my 
friend ;  he  makes  all  about  me  friends  too,  for  it  seems  to 
me  that  you  and  Miss  Janet,  and  all  of  you  are  my  friends. 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  259 


Poor  Bacchus  !  he  takes  on  sadly  about  me ;  he  always 
was  a  tender-hearted  soul.  Master,  when  I  am-  gone,  I 
know  you  will  be  good  to  him  and  comfort  him,  but,  please 
sir,  do  something  else.  Talk  to  him,  and  pray  for  him, 
and  read  the  blessed  Book  to  him  !  Oh  !  if  he  would  only 
give  up  liquor !  I  trust  in  the  Lord  he  will  live  and  die  a 
sober  man,  else  I  know  we'll  never  meet  again.  We  won't 
be  on  the  same  side  at  the  Judgment  Seat.  There's  no 
drunkards  in  that  happy  place  where  I  am  going  fast.  No 
drunkards  in  the  light  of  God's  face — no  drunkards  at  the 
blessed  feet  of  Jesus." 

"I  think  Bacchus  has  perfectly  reformed,"  said  Mr. 
Weston,  «  and  you  may  feel  assured  that  we  will  do  every 
thing  for  his  soul  as  well  as  his  body,  that  we  can.  But, 
Phillis,  have  you  no  wishes  to  express,  as  regards  your 
children?" 

Phillis  hesitated — "My  children  are  well  off,"  she  said; 
" they  have  a  good  master;  if  they  serve  him  and  God 
faithfully  they  will  be  sure  to  do  weli" 

"  If  there  is  any  thing  on  your  mind,"  said  Mr.  Weston, 
"  speak  it  without  fear.  The  distinction  between  you  and 
me  as  master  and  slave,  I  consider  no  longer  existing. 
You  are  near  being  redeemed  from  my  power,  and  the 
power  of  death  alone  divides  you  from  your  Saviour's  pre- 
sence. That  Saviour  whose  example  you  have  tried  to 
follow,  whose  blood  has  washed  your  soul  from  all  its  sin. 
I  am  much  older  than  you,  and  I  live  in  momentary  expec- 
tation of  my  summons.  We  shall  soon  meet,  I  hope,  in 
that  happy  place,  where  the  distinctions  of  this  world  will 
be  forgotten.  I  have  thought  of  you  a  great  deal,  lately, 
and  have  been  anxious  to  relieve  your  mind  of  every  care. 
It  is  natural  that  a  mother,  about  to  leave  such  a  family  as 
you  have,  should  have  some  wishes  regarding  them. 

"I  have  thought  several  times,"  continued  Mr.  Weston, 
"  of  offering  to  set  your  children  free  at  my  death,  and  1 
will  do  so  if  you  wish.  You  must  be  aware  that  they 


260  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


could  not  remain  in  Virginia  after  they  were  manumitted. 
In  the  Middle  and  Northern  states  free  blacks  are  in  a 
.degraded  condition.  There  is  no  sympathy  for  or. with 
them.  They  have  no  more  rights  than  they  have  as  slaves 
with  us,  and  they  have  no  one  to"-€are  for  them  when  they 
are  sick  or  in  trouble.  You  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  this 
in  your  occasional  visits  to  the  North.  In  Washington, 
since  the  Abolitionists  have  intermeddled  there,  the  free 
blacks  have  become  intolerable  ;  they  live  from  day  to  day 
in  discomfort  and  idleness.  I  mean  as  a  general  thing ; 
there  are,  of  course,  occasional  exceptions.  Bacchus  is 
too  old  to  take  care  of  himself;  he  would  not  be  happy 
away  from  Exeter.  Consider  what  I  say  to  you,  and  I  will 
be  guided  by  your  wishes  as  regards  your  children. 

"  They  might  go  to  Liberia ;  some  of  them  would  be 
willing,  no  doubt.  I  have  talked  to  William,  he  says  he 
would  not  go.  Under  these  circumstances  they  would  be 
separated,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  I  would  be  doing  you 
or  them  a  favour  by  freeing  them.  Be  perfectly  candid, 
and  let  me  know  your  wishes." 

"  As  long  as  you,  or  Master  Arthur  and  Miss  Alice  live, 
they  would  be  better  off  as  they  are,"  said  Phillis. 

"  I  believe  they  would,"  said  Mr.  Weston,  "but  life  and 
death  cannot  be  too  much  considered  in  connection  with 
each  other.  I  must  soon  go.  I  am  only  lingering  at  the 
close  of  a  long  journey.  Arthur  will  then  have  control, 
and  will,  I  am  certain,  make  his  servants  as  happy  as  he 
can.  My  family  is  very  small ;  you  are  aware  I  have  no 
near  relations.  I  have  made  my  will,  and  should  Arthur 
and  Alice  die  without  children,  I  have  left  all  my  servants 
free.  Your  children  I  have  thus  provided  for.  At  my  death 
they  are  free,  but  I  would  not  feel  justified  in  turning  them 
into  the  world  without  some  provision.  The  older  children 
can  take  care  of  themselves ;  they  are  useful  and  have 
good  principles.  I  have  willed  each  one  of  them  to  be  free 
at  the  age  of  twenty  years.  Thus,  you  see,  most  of  them 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  261 

will  soon  1  e  free,  while  none  will  have  to  wait  very  long.  In 
the  mean  :ime  they  will  be  well  taught  and  cared  for.  My 
will  is  made,-  and  all  the  forms  of  law  attended  to.  Arthur 
and  Alice  are  very  much  pleased  with  it.  Your  older 
children  know  it ;  they  are  very  happy,  but  they  declare 
they  will  never  leave  Exeter  as  long  as  there  is  a  Weston 
upon  it.*  And  now,  Phillis,  are  you  satisfied  ?  I  shall 
experience  great  pleasure  in  having  been  able  to  relieve  you 
of  any  anxiety  while  you  have  so  much  pain  to  bear." 

"Oh !  master,"  said  Phillis,  "what  shall  I  say  to  you? 
I  haven't  no  learning.  I  am  only  a  poor,  ignorant  woman. 
I  can't  thank  you,  master,  as  I  ought.  My  heart  is  nigh 
to  bursting.  What  have  I  done  that  the  Lord  is  so  good 
to  me.  He  has  put  it  into  your  heart  to  make  me  so  hap- 
py. Thank  you,  master,  and  God  for  ever  bless  you." 

The  tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks,  as  Mr.  Weston 
arose  to  go.  Esther  had  come  to  see  if  her  mother  wanted 
any  thing. 

"Master,"  said  Phillis,  "wait  one  moment — there's  no- 
thing between  me  and  Heaven  now.  Oh  !  sir,  I  shall  soon 
be  redeemed  from  all  sin  and  sorrow.  I  think  I  see 
the  glory  that  shines  about  the  heavenly  gates.  I  have 
never  felt  myself  ready  to  go  until  now,  but  there  is 
nothing  to  keep  me.  The  Lord  make  your  dying  bed  as 
easy  as  you  have  mine." 

Mr.  Weston  endeavored  to  compose  himself,  but  was 
much  agitated.  "Phillis,"  he  said,  "you  h#ve  deserved 
more  than  I  could  ever  do  for  you.  If  any  thing  should 
occur  to  you  that  I  have  not  thought  of,  let  me  know,  it 
shall,  if  possible,  be  done.  Would  you  like  again  to  see 
Mr.  Caldwell,  and  receive  the  communion?" 

"No,  master,  I  thank  you.  You  and  Miss  Janet,  and 
Miss  Anna,  and  poor  Bacchus,  took  it  with  me  last  week, 

*  A  number  of  slaves  have  been  manumitted  recently  at  the  South — • 
in  one  instance  more  than  half  preferred  to  remain  in  slavery  in  New 
Orleans,  to  going  to  the  North. 


262  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 


and  I  shall  soon  be  where  there  will  be  no  more  need  to  re- 
mind me  of  the  Lamb  that  was  slain ;  for  I  shall  be  with 
him ;  I  shall  see  him  as  he  is.  And,  master,  we  will  all 
meet  there.  We  will  praise  him  together." 

Esther  was  weeping  ;  and  Mr.  Weston,  quite  overcome, 
left  the  room. 

"Esther,  child,"  said  Phillis,  "don't  do  so.  There's 
nothing  but  glory  and  peace.  There's  no  occasion  for 
tears.  God  will  take  care  of  you  all  here,  and  will,  I  hope 
and  pray,  bring  you  to  heaven  at  last.  Poor  master  !  To 
think  he  is  so  distressed  parting  with  me.  I  thought  I 
should  have  stood  by  his  dying  bed.  The  Lord  knows 
best." 

"Mother,"  said  Esther,  "will  you  take  this  medicine — 
it  is  time?" 

"  No,  honey.  -No  more  medicine ;  it  won't  do  me  no 
good.  I  don't  want  medicine.  Jesus  is  what  I  want.  He 

is  all  in  all. 

***** 

Reader  !  have  you  ever  stood  by  the  dying  bed  of  a 
slave  ?  It  may  be  not.  There  are  those  who  are  often 
there.  The  angels  of  God,  and  One  who  is  above  the  an- 
gels. One  who  died  for  all.  He  is  here  now.  Here, 
where  stand  weeping  friends — here,  where  all  is  silence. 
You  may  almost  hear  the  angel's  wings  as  they  wait  to  bear 
the  redeemed  spirit  to  its  heavenly  abode.  Here,  where 
the  form  is  almost  senseless,  the  soul  fluttering  between 
earth  and  heaven.  Here,  where  the  Spirit  of  God  is  over- 
shadowing the  scene. 

"Master,"  said  Phillis,  "all  is  peace.  Jesus  is  here.  I 
am  going  home.  You  will  soon  be  there,  and  Miss  Janet 
cant  be  long.  Miss  Anna  too.  Bacchus,  the  good  Lord 
will  bring  you  there.  I  trust  in  Him  to  save  you.  My 
children,  God  bless  them,  little  Lydia  and  all." 

"Master  Arthur,"  said  she,  "as  Arthur  bent  over  her, 
"  give  my  love  to  Master  Walter.  You  and  Miss  Alice  will 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  263 


soon  be  married.  The  Lord  make  you  happy.  God  bless 
you,  Miss  Ellen,  and  make  you  his  child.  Keep  close, 
children  to  Jesus.  Seems  as  if  we  wasn't  safe  when  we 
can't  see  him.  I  see  him  now;  he  is  beckoning  me  to 
come.  Blessed  Jesus  !  take  me — take  me  .home." 

Kind  master,  weep  not.  She  will  bear,  even  at  the  throne 
of  God,  witness  to  thy  faithfulness.  Through  thee  she 
learned  the  way  to  heaven,  and  it  may  be  soon  she  will 
stand  by  thee  again,  though  thou  see  her  not.  She  may  be 
one  of  those  who  will  guide  thee  to  the  Celestial  City ;  to 
the  company  of  the  redeemed,  where  will  be  joy  forever. 
"Weep  not,  but  see  in  what  peace  a  Christian  can  die. 
Watch  the  last  gleams  of  thought  which  stream  from  her 
dying  eyes.  Do  you  see  any  thing  like  apprehension  ?  The 
world,  it  is  true,  begins  to  shut  in.  The  shadows  of  evening 
collect  around  her  senses.  A  dark  mist  thickens,  and  rests 
upon  the  objects  which  have  hitherto  engaged  her  observa- 
tion. The  countenances  of  her  friends  become  more  and 
more  indistinct.  The  sweet  expressions  of  love  and  friend- 
ship are  no  longer  intelligible.  Her  ear  wakes  no  more  at 
the  well-known  voice  of  her  children,  and  the  soothing  ac- 
cents of  tender  affection  die  away  unheard  upon  her  de- 
caying senses.  To  her  the  spectacle  of  human  life  is 
drawing  to  its  close,  and  the  curtain  is  descending  which 
shuts  out  this  earth,  its  actors,  and  its  scenes.  She  is  no 
longer  interested  in  all  that  is  done  under  the  sun.  Oh ! 
that  I  could  now  open  to  you  the  recesses  of  her  soul,  that 
I  could  reveal  to  you  the  light  which  darts  into  the  cham- 
bers of  her  understanding.  She  approaches  that  world 
which  she  has  so  long  seen  in  faith.  The  imagination  now 
collects  its  diminished  strength,  and  the  eye  of  faith 
opens  wide. 

"Friends !  do  not  stand  thus  fixed  in  sorrow  around  this 
bed  of  death.  Why  are  you  so  still  and  silent  ?  Fear  not 
to  move ;  you  cannot  disturb  the  visions  that  enchant  this 
holy  spirit.  She  heeds  you  not ;  already  she  sees  the 


264  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

spirits  of  the  just  advancing  together  to  receive  a  kindred 
soul.  She  is  going  to  add  another  to  the  myriads  of  the 
just,  that  are  every  moment  crowding  into  the  portals  of 
heaven.  She  is  entering  on  a  noble  life.  Already  she  cries 
to  you  from  the  regions  of  bliss.  Will  you  not  join  her 
there  ?  Will  you  not  taste  the  sublime  joys  of  faith  ?  There 
are  seats  for  you  in  the  assembly  of  the  just  made  perfect, 
in  the  innumerable  company  of  angels,  where  is  Jesus,  the 
Mediator  of  the  New  Covenant,  and  God,  the  Judge  of  all." 


SOUTHERN    LIFE   AS    IT   IS.  265 


CONCLUDING  REMAKES. 

I  MUST  be  allowed  to  quote  the  words  of  Mrs.  Harriet 
B.  Stowe : 

«  The  writer  has  often  been  (or  will  be)  inquired  of 
by  correspondents  from  different  parts  of  the  country, 
whether  this  narrative  is  a  true  one ;  and  to  these  inquiries 
she  will  give  one  general  answer.  The  separate  incidents 
that  compose  the  narrative  are  to  a  very  great  extent  au- 
thentic, occurring,  many  of  them,  either  under  her  own 
observation,  or  that  of  her  personal  friends.  She  or  her 
friends  have  observed  characters  the  counterpart  of  almost 
all  that  are  here  introduced ;  and  many  of  the  sayings  are 
word  for  word  as  heard  herself,  or  reported  to  her." 

Of  the  planter  Legree,  (and,  with  the  exception  of  Prof. 
Webster,  such  a  wretch  never  darkened  humanity,)  she 
says: 

«  Of  him  her  brother  wrote,  he  actually  made  me  feel  of 
his  fist,  which  was  like  a  blacksmith's  hammer  or  a  nodule 
of  iron,  telling  me  that  it  was  calloused  with  knocking 
down  niggers." 

Now  as  a  parallel  to  this,  I  will  state  a  fact  communi- 
cated to  me  by  a  clergyman,  (a  man  of  great  talent,  and 
goodness  of  character,  and  undoubted  veracity,)  that  a  su- 
perintendent of  Irishmen,  who  were  engaged  on  a  Northern 
railroad,  told  him  he  did  not  hesitate  to  knock  any  man 
down  that  gave  him  the  least  trouble ;  and  although  the 
clergyman  did  not  "examine  his  fist  and  pronounce  it  like  a 
blacksmith's  hammer,"  yet,  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
it  was  "  calloused  with  knocking  down  Irishmen."  At  any 
rate,  I  take  the  license  of  the  writers  of  the  day,  and  say 
it  was. 

23 


266  AUNT   PHILLIS'S    CABIN:   OR, 


Mrs.  Stowe  goes  on  to  say,  «  That  the  tragical  fate  of 
Tom  also  has  too  many  times  had 'its  parallel,  there  are 
living  witnesses  all  over  our  land  to  testify. "  Now  it  would 
take  the  smallest  portion  of  common  sense  to  know  that 
that  there  is  no  witness,  dead  or  living,  who  could  testify 
to  such  a  fact,  save  &fal$e  witness.  This  whole  history  is 
an  absurdity.  No  master  would  be  fool  enough  to  sell  the 
best  hand  on  his  estate  ;  one  who  directed,  and  saved,  and 
managed  for  him.  No  master  would  be  brutish  enough  to 
sell  the  man  who  had  nursed  him  and  his  children,  who 
loved  him  like  a  son,  even  for  urgent  debt,  had  he  another 
article  of  property  in  the  wide  world.  But  Mr.  Shelby 
does  so,  according  to  Mrs.  Stowe,  though  he  has  a  great 
many  other  servants,  besides  houses  and  lands,  £c.  Pre- 
posterous ! 

And  such  a  saint  as  Uncle  Tom  was,  too !  One  would 
have  thought  his  master,  with  the  opinion  he  had  of  his  re- 
ligious qualifications,  would  have  kept  him  until  he  died, 
and  'then  have  sol>d  him  bone  after  bone  to  the  Roman  Ca- 
tholics. Why,  every  tooth  in  his  head  would  have  brought 
its  price.  St.  Paul  was  nothing  but  a  common  man  com- 
pared with  him,  for  St.  Paul  had  been  wicked  once ;  and 
even  after  his  miraculous  conversion,  he  felt  that  sin  was 
btill  impelling  him  to  do  what  he  would  not.  But  not  so 
with  'Uncle  Tom  !  He  was  the  very  perfection  of  a  saint. 
Well  might  St.  Clare  have  proposed  using  him  for  a  family 
chaplain,  or  suggested  to  himself  the  idea  of  ascending  to 
heaven  by  Tom's  skirts.  Mrs.  Stowe  should  have  carried  out 
one  of  her  ideas  in  his  history,  and  have  made  him  Bishop 
of  Carthage,  j  I  have  never  heard  or  read  of  so  perfect  a 
character.'  All  the  saints  and  martyrs  that  ever  came  to  un- 
natural deaths,  could  not  show  such  an  amount  of  excellence. 
I  only  wonder  he  managed  to  stay  so  long  in  this  world  of  sin. 

When,  after  fiery  trials  and  persecutions,  he  is  finally 
purchased  by  a  Mr.  Legree,  Mrs.  Stowe  speaks  of  the 
horrors  of  the  scene.  She  says  though,  "it  can't  be 


SOUTHERN    LIFE    AS    IT    IS.  267 


helped."  Did  it  ever  occur  to  her,  that  Northerners  might 
go  South,  and  buy  a  great  many  of  these  slaves,  and  manu- 
mit them  ?  They  do  go  South  and  buy  them,  but  they 
keep  them,  and  work  them  as  slaves  too.  A  great  deal  of 
this  misery  might  be  helped. 

Tom  arrives  at  Legree's  plantation.  How  does  he  fare  ? 
Sleeps  on  a  little  foul,  dirty  straw,  jammed  in  with  a  lot 
of  others ;  has  every  night  toward  midnight  enough  corn 
to  stay  the  stomach  of  one  small .  chicken ;  and  is  thrown 
into  a  most  dreadful  state  of  society — men  degraded,  and 
women  degraded.  We  will  pass  over  scenes  that  a  woman's 
pen  should  never  describe,  and  observe  the  saint-like  per- 
fection of  Tom.  He  was,  or  considered  himself,  a  mission-! 
ary  to  the  negroes,  evidently  liked  his  sufferings,  and  died,  \ 
by  choice,  a  martyr's  death.  He  made  the  most  astonish- 
ing number  of  conversions  in  a  short  time,  and  of  charac-  \ 
ters  worse  than  history  records.  So  low,  so.  degraded,  so 
lost  were  the  men  and  women  whose  wicked  hearts  he  sub- 
dued, that  their  conversion  amounted  to  nothing  less  than 
miracles.  No  matter  how  low,  how  ignorant,  how  de- 
prave3,~the  very  sight  -of  Tom  turned  them  into  advanced, 
intelligent  Christians. 

Tom's  lines  were  indeed  cast  in  a  sad  place.  I  have 
always  believed  that  the  Creator  was  everywhere.;  but  we 
are  told  of  Legree's  plantation  "The  Lord  never  visits 
these  parts."  This  might  account  for  the  desperate 
wickedness  of  most  of  the  characters,  but  how  Tom  could 
retain  his  holiness  under  the  circumstances  is  a  marvel  to 
me.  His  religion,  then,  depended  on  himself.  Assuredly  < 
he  was  more  than  a  man !  ] 

Legree  had  several  ways  of  keeping  his  servants  in 
order — "  they  were  burned  alive;  scalded,  cut  into  inch 
pieces ;  set  up  for  the  dogs  to  .tear,  or  hung  up  and 
whipped  to  death."  Now  I  am  convinced  that  Mrs. 
Stowe  must  have  a  credulous  mind;  and  was  imposed 
upon.  She  never  could  have  conceived  such  things  with 


268  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OK, 


all  her  talent;  the  very  conception  implies  a  refine- 
ment of  cruelty.  She  gives,  however,  a  mysterious  de- 
scription of  a  certain  «  place  way  out  down  by  the  quarters, 
where  you  can  see  a  black  blasted  tree,  and  the  ground  all 
covered  with  black  ashes."  It  is  afterward  intimated  that 
this  was  the  scene  of  a  negro  burned  alive.  Reader,  you 
may  depend,  it  was  a  mistake ;  that's  just  the  way  a  tree 
appears  when  it  has  been  struck  by  lightning.  Next  time 
you  pass  one,  look  at  it.  I  have  not  the  slightest  doubt 
that  this  was  the  way  the  mistake  was  made.  We  have 
an  x  occasional  wag  at  .the  South,  and  some  one  has 
practised  upon' a  soft-hearted  New  England er  in  search  of 
horrors  ;  this  is  the  result.  She  mentions  that  the  ashes 
were  black.  Do  not  infer  from  this  that  it  must  have  been 
a  black  man  or  negro.  But  I  will  no  longer  arraign  your 
good  sense.  It  was  not,  take  my  word  for  it,  as  Mrs.  Stowe 
describes  it,  some  poor  negro "" tied,  to  a  tree,  with  a  slow 
fire  lit  under  him." 

Tom  tells  Legree  "he'd  as  soon  die  as  not."  Indeed,  he 
proposes  whipping,  starving,  burning;  saying,  "it  will  only 
send  him  sooner  where  he  wants  to  go."  Tom  evidently 
considers  himself  as  too  good  for  this  world  ;  and  after 
making  these  proposals  to  his  master,  he  is  asked,  "How 
are  you?"  He  answers:  "The  Lord  God  has  sent  his 
angel,  and  shut  the  lion's  mouth."  Anybody  can  see 
that  he  is  laboring  under  a  hallucination,  and  fancies  him- 
self Daniel.  Gassy,  however,  consoled  him  after  the  style 
of  Job's  friends,  by  telling  him  that  his  master  was  going 
"to  hang  like  a  dog  at  his  throat,  sucking  his  blood,  bleed- 
ing away  his  life  drop  by  drop." 

In  what  an  attitude,  0  Planters  of  the  South,  has 
Mrs.  Stowe  taken  your  likenesses  ! 

Tom  dies  at  last.  How  could  soich  a  man  die  ?  Oh ! 
that  he  would  live  forever  and  convert  all  our  Southern 
slaves.  He  did  not  need  any  supporting  grace  on  his 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  269 


deathbed.  Hear  him — «  The  Lord  may  help  me,  or  not 
help,  but  I'll  hold  on  to  him." 

I  thought  a  Christian  could  not  hold  on  to  the  Lord 
without  help.  "Ye  can  of  yourself  do  nothing."  But 
Tom  is  an  exception — to  the  last  he  is  perfect.  All 
Christians  have  been  caught  tripping  sometimes,  but  Tom 
never  is.  He  is  "  bearing  everybody's  burdens."  He 
might  run  away,  but  he  will  not.  He  says,  "  The  Lord 
has  given  me  a  work. among  these  yer  poor  souls,  and  I'll 
stay  with  'em,  and  bear  my  cross  with  'em  to  the  end." 
Christian  reader,  we  must  reflect.  We  know  where  to  go" 
for  one  instance  of  human  perfection,  where  the  human  and 
the  Divine  were  united,  but  we  know  not  of  another. 

Tom  converts  Cassy,  a  most  infamous  creature  from  her 
own  accounts,  and  we  are  to  sympathize  with  her  vileness, 
for  she  has  no  other  traits  of  character  described.  Tom 
converts  her,  but  I  am  sorry  to  see  she  steals  money  and 
goods,  and  fibs  tremendously  afterwards.  We  hope  the 
rest  of  his  converts  did  him  more  credit. 

The  poor  fellow  dies  at  last — converting  two  awful 
wretches  with  his  expiring  breath.  The  process  of  con- 
version was  very  short.  "  Oh  !  Lord,  give  me  these  two 
more  souls,  I  pray."  That  prayer  was  answered. 

The  saddest  part  of  this  book  would  be,  (if  they  were  just,) 
the  inferences  10  be  drawn  from  the  history  of  this  wretch, 
Legree.  Mrs.  Stowe  says,  «  He  was  rocked  on  the  bosom 
of  a  mother,  cradled  with  prayer  and  pious  hymns,  his  now 
seared  brow  bedewed  with  the  waters  of  baptism.  In 
early  childhood,  a  fair-haired  woman  had  led  him,  at  the 
sound  of  Sabbath  bells,  to  worship  and  to  pray.  Far  in 
New  England  that  mother  had  •  trained  her  only  son  with 
long  unwearied  love  and  patient  prayers."  Believe  it 
not,  Christian  mother,  North  or  South  !  Thou  hast  the 
promises  of  Scripture  to  the  contrary.  Rock  thy  babe 
upon  thy  bosom — sing  to  him  sweet  hymns— r-carry  him  to 
the  baptismal  font — be  unwearied  in  love— -patient  in 

23* 


270  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

prayers  ;  he  will  never  be  such  a  one,     He  may  wandei 
but  he  will  come  back  ;  do  thy  duty  by  hhn,  and  God  will 
not  forget  his  promises.     "  He  is  not  man  that  he  will  lie  ; 
nor  the  son  of  man  that  he  will  repent." 

Legree  is  a  Northerner.  Time  would  fail  me  to  notice  all 
the  crimes  with  which  Southern  men  and  women  are  charg- 
ed ;  but  their  greatness  and  number  precludes  the  possibility 
of  their  being  believed.  According  to  Mrs.  Stowe,  mothers 
do  not  love  their  beautiful  children  at  the  South.  The  hus- 
bands have  to  go  to  New  England  and  bring  back  old  maids 
to  take  care  of  them,  and  to  see  to  their  houses,  which  are 
going  to  rack  and  ruin  under  their  wives'  surveillance.  Oh ! 
these  Southern  husbands,  a  heart  of  stone'  must  pity  them. 

Then  again,  Southern  planters  keep  dogs  and  blood- 
hounds to  hunt  up  negroes,  tear  women's  faces,  and  com- 
mit all  sorts  of  doggish  atrocities.  Now  I  have  a  charitable 
way  of  accounting  for  this.  "  I  am  convinced,  too,  this  is  a 
misapprehension;  and  I'll  tell  you  why. 

I  have  a  mortal  fear  of  dogs  myself.  I  always  had. 
No  reasoning,  no  scolding,  ever  had  the  slightest  effect 
upon  me.  I  never  passed  one  on  my  way  to  church  with 
my  prayer-book  in  my  hand,  without  quaking.  If  they 
wag  their  tails,  I  lox>k  around  for  aid.  If  they  bark,  I  im- 
mediately give  myself  up  for  lost..  I  have  died  a  thousand 
deaths  from  the  mere  accident  of  meeting  dogs  in  the 
street.  I  never  did  meet  one  without  believing  that  it 
was  his  destiny  to  give  my  children  a  step-mother.  In 
point  of  fact,  I  would  like  te  live  in  a  world  without  dogs ; 
but  as  I  cannot 'accomplish  this,  I  console  myself  by  living 
in  a  house  without  one.  I  always  expect  my  visitors  to 
leave  their  dogs  at  home ;  they  may  bring  their  children, 
but  they  must  not  bring  their  dogs.  I  wish  dogs  would 
not  even  look  in  my  basement  windows  as  they  pass. 

I  am  convinced  therefore,  that  some  Northerner  has 
passed  a  plantation  at  the  South,  and  seen  dogs  tied  up. 
Naturally  having  a  horror  of  dogs,  he  has  let  his  imagina- 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  271 


tion  loose.  After  a  great  deal  of  mental  exercise,  the  brain 
jumps  at  a  conclusion,  "  What  are  these  dogs  kept  here 
for  ?"  The  answer  is  palpable  :  "To  hunt  niggers  when 
they  run  away."  Reader,  imitate  my  charity;  it  is  a  rare 
virtue  where  white  faces  are  concerned. 

All  the  rest  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  horrors  can  be  accounted^ 
for  satisfactorily.     It  is" 'much  better  to  try  and  find  an 
excuse  for  one's  fellow-creatures  than  to  be  always  calling 
them  "story-tellers,"  and  the  like.     I  am  determined  to 
be  charitable. 

But  still  it  is  misrepresentation  ;  for  if  they  took  proper 
means,  they  would  find  out  the  delusions  under  which  they 
labor. 

Abolitionists  do  not  help  their  cause  by  misrepresenta- 
tion. It  will"  do  well  enough,  in  a  book  of  romance,  to 
describe  infants  torn  from  the  arms  of  their  shrieking 
mothers,  and  sold  for  five  and  ten  dollars.  It  tells  well, 
for  the  mass  of  readers  are  fond  of  horrors;  but  it  is  not 
true.  It  is  on  a  par  with  the  fact  stated,  that  masters  - 
advertise  their  slaves,  and  offer  rewards  for  them,  dead  or 
alive.  How  did  the  snows  of  New  England  ever  give 
birth-to  such  brilliant  imaginations  ! 

Family  relations  are   generally  respected ;    and  when  "^ 
they  are  not,  it  is  one  of  the  evils  attendant  on  an  institu- 
tion which  God  has  permitted  in  all  ages,  for  his  inscruta- 
ble purposes,  and  which  he  may  in  his  good  time  do  away 
with. 

TThe  Jews  ever  turn  their  eyes  and  affections  toward 
Jerusalem,  as  their  home  ;  so  should  the  free  colored  peo- 
ple in  America  regard  Liberia.  Africa,  once  their  mother 
country,  should,  in-  its  turn,  be  the  country  of  their  adop- 
tion. 

As  regards  the  standard  of  talent  among  negroes,  I 
fancy  it  has  been  exaggerated  ;•*  though  no  one  can,  at 
present,  form  a  just  conclusion.  Slavery  has,  for  ages, 
pressed  like  a  band  of  iron  round  the  intellect  of  the 


272  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;   OR, 


colored  man.  Time  must  do  its  work  to  show  what  he  is, 
without  a  like  hindrance. 

The  instance  mentioned  in  «  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  of  a 
young  mulatto,  .George  Harris,  inventing  a  machine,  is 
very  solitary.  The  negroep,  like  a  good  many  of  their 
owners,  are  opposed  to  innovations.  They  like  the  good 
old  way.  -  The  hot  sun  ,under  which  they  were  born,  and 
the  hotter  one  that  lighted  the  paths  of  their  ancestors, 
prejudices  them  against  any  new  effort.  I  think,  when 
they  do  get  in  Congress,  they  will  vote  for  agricultural 
against  manufacturing  interests.  I  am  sure  they  would 
rather  pick  cotton  than  be  confined  to  the  din  and  dust  of 
a  factory.  An  old  negro  prefers  to  put  his  meal  bags  in 
a  covered  wagon,  and  drive  them  to  market  at  his  leisure, 
with  his  pocket  full  of  the  tobacco  he  helped  to  raise,  and 
the  whole  country  for  a  spit-box,  to  being  whirled  away 
bodily  in  a  railroad  car,  in  terror  of  his  life,  deaf  with  the 
whistling  and  the  puffing  of  the  engine.  When  Liberia 
or  Africa  does  become  a.  great  nation,  (Heaven -  grant  it 
may  soonA  they  will  require  many  other  buildings  there, 
before  a  patent  office  is  called  for. 

George  Harris  is  a  natural  Abolitionist,  with  a  dark 
c'omplexion.  He  is  a  remarkable  youth  in  other  respects, 
though  I  should  first  consider  the  enormous  fact  of  George's 
master  appropriating  to  himself  the  benefit  of  his  servant's 
cleverness.  Even  with  a  show  of  right  this  may  be  a  mean 
trick,  but  it  is  the  way  of  the  world.  A  large  portion  of 
New  England  men  are  at  this  time  claiming  each  other's 
patents.  I  know  of  an  instance  down  East,  for  South- 
erners can  sometimes  "  tak  notes,  and  prent  'em  too."  A 
gentleman  took  a  friend  to  his  room,  and  showed  him  an 
invention  for  which  he  was  about  to  apply  for  a  patent. 
The  friend  walked  off  with  his  hands  in  his  pocket ;  his 
principles  had  met,  and  passed  an  appropriation  bill ;  the 
invention  had  become  his  own — in  plain  English,  he  stole 
it.  Washington  is  always  full  of  people  claiming  each 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT  -IS.  273 


other's  brains.  The  lawyers  at  the  Patent  Office  have 
their  hands  full.  They  must  keep  wide  awake,  too.  Each 
inventor,  when  he' relates  his  grievances,  brings  a  witness 
to  maintain  his  claim.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  after  a 
while,  there  will  be  those  who  can  testify  to  the  fact  of 
having  seen  the  idea  as  it  passed  through  the  inventor's 
mind.  The  way  it  is  settled  at  present  is  this — whoever 
can  pay  the  most  for  the  best  lawyer  comes  off  triumphant- 
ly !  Poor  George  is  not  the  only  smart  fellow  in  the 
world  outdone  by  somebody  better  off  than  himself. 

George  positively  refuses  to  hear  the  Bible  quoted.  He 
believes  in  a  higher  law,  no  doubt,  Frederic  Douglas  being 
editorial  expounder ;  a  sort  of  Moses  of  this  century,  a 
little  less  meek,  though,  than  the  one  who  instructed  the 
Israelites.  George  won't  hear  the  Bible ;  he  prefers,  he 
says,  ^appealing  to'the  Almighty  himself.  This  makes  me 
fear  his  Abolitionist  friends  are  not  doing  right  by  him ; 
putting  him  up  to  shooting,  and  turning  Spanish  gentle- 
man, and  all  sorts  of  vagaries ;  to  say  nothing  of  disobey- 
ing the  laws  of  the  country.  No  one  blames  him,  though, 
for  escaping  from  a  hard  master  ;  at  least,  I  do  not.- 

It  would  be  a  grand  thing  to  stand  on  the  shore  of  a 
new  country,  and  see  before  you,  free,  every  slave  and 
prisoner  on  the  soil  of  the  earth ;  to  hear  their  Te  Deum  as- 
cend to  the  listening  heavens.  Methinks  the  sun  would 
stand  still,  as  it  did  of  old,  and  earth  would  lift  -up  her 
voice,  and  lead  the  song  of  her  ransomed  children ;  but, 
alas  !  this  cannot  be  yet — the  time  is  not  come.  Oppres- 
sion wears  her  crown  in  every  clime,  though  it  is  some- 
times hidden  from  the  gaze  of  her  subjects. 

George  declares  he  knows  more  than  his  master;  "he 
can  read  and  write  better;"  but  his  logic  is  bad.  He  thus 
discusses  the  indications  of  Providence.  A  friend  reminds 
bin!  of  what  the  apostle  says,  «  Let  every  man  abide  in  the 
condition  in  which  he  is  called,"  and  he  immediately  uses 
this  simile  :  "I  wonder,  Mr.  Wilson,  if  the  Indians  should 


274  AUNT  PHILLIS'S  CABIN;  OR, 


come,  and  take  you  a  prisoner,  away  from  your  wife  and 
children,  and  want  to  keep  you  all  your  life  hoeing  corn 
for  them,  if  you'd  think  it  your  duty  to  abide  in  that  con- 
dition in  which  you  were  called.  I  rather  think,  that 
you'd  think  the  first  stray  horse  you  could  find  an  indica- 
tion.of  Providence — shouldn't  you?'r 

This  does  not  apply  to  slavery.  A  man  born  a  slave, 
in  a  country  where  slavery-is  allowed  by  law,  should  feel 
the  obligation  of  doing  his  duty  while  a  slave ;  but  Mr. 
Wilson,  carried  off  by  Indians,  would  feel  as  if  he  had 
been  called  to  a  state  of  life  previous  to  the  one  in  which 
he  was  so  unfortunate  to  be  .doomed,  while  he  was  among 
savages. 

George  goes  on  to  say — "  Let  any  man  take  care  that 
tries  to  stop  me,  for  I  am  desperate,  and  I'll  fight  for  my 
liberty.  You  say  your  fathers  did  it :  if  it  was  right  for 
them,  it  is  right  for  me." 

Too  fast,  George !  You  are  out  in  your  history,  too. 
Your  master  must  be  a  remarkably  ignorant  man  if  you 
know  more  than  he.  Our  glorious  ancestors  were  never 
condemned  to  slavery,  they  nor  their  fathers,  by  God  him- 
self. Neither  have  they  ever  been  considered  in  the  light  of 
runaways;  they  came  off  wi th jull  jgermissipn,  and  having 
honestly  and  honorably  attained  their  liberties,  they  fought 
for  them. 

Besides  being  of  a  prettier  complexion,  and  coming  of 
a  better  stock  than  you,  they  were  prepared  to  be  free. 
There  is  a  great  deal  in  that. 

Then,  those  very  ancestors' of  ours — ah  !  there's  the  rub 
— (and  the  ancestors  of  the  Abolitionists,  too,)  they  got 
us  and  you  into  this  difficulty — think  of  it !  They  had 
your  ancestors  up  there  in  New  England,  until  they  found 
you  were  so  lazy,  and  died  off  so  in  their  cold  climate, 
that  it,  did  not  pay  to  keep  you.  So  I  repeat  to  you  the 
advice  of  Mr.  Wilson,  "Be  careful,  my  boy;  don't  shoot 


SOUTHERN   LIFE    AS    IT   IS.  275 

anybody,  George,  unless — well — you'd  better  not  shoot, 
I  reckon ;  at  least,  I  wouldn't  hit  anybody,  you  know." 

As  regards  the  practice  of  marking  negroes  in  the  hand, 
I  look  upon  it  as  one  of  the  imaginary  horrors  of  the 
times — a  delusion  like  spiritual  rappings,  got  up  out  of  sheer 
timidity  of  disposition,  though  I  have  heard  of  burning 
old  women  for  witches  in  New  England,  and  placing  a 
scarlet  letter  on  the  bosom  of  some  unhappy  one,  wjio  had 
already  sorrow  and  sin  enough  to  bear. 

It  won't  do ;  the  subject  has,  without  doubt,  been  duly 
investigated  already.  I'd  be  willing  (were  I  not  opposed 
to  betting)  to  bet  my  best  collar  and  neck  ribbon,  that  a 
committee  of  investigation  has  been  appointed,  consisting 
of  twelve  of  Boston's  primmest  old  maids,  and  they  have 
been  scouring  the  plantations  of  the  South,  bidding 
the  negroes  hold  out  their  hands,  (not  as  the  poor  souls 
will -at  first  suppose,  that  they  maybe  crossed  with  a  piece 
of  silver,)  and  that  they  are  now  returning,  crest-fallen,  to 
their  native  city,  not  having  seen  a  branded  hand  in  all 
their  journeying.  Could  aught  escape  their  vigilance  ? 
But  they  will  say  they  saw  a  vast  number,  and  that  will 
answer  the  purpose. 

(Ah !  Washington  Irving,  well  mayest  thou  sigh  and 
look  back  at  the  ladies  of  the  Golden  Age.  "  These  were 
the  honest  days,  in  which  every  woman  stayed  at  home^ 
read  the  Bible,  and  wore  pockets."  These  days  are  for 
ever  gone.  Prophetic  was  thy  lament !  Now  we  may 
wear  pockets — but,  alas  !  we  neither  stay  at  home,  nor 
read  our  Bible.  We  form  societies  to  reform  the  world, 
and  we  write  books  on  slavery !) 

Talking  of  our  ancestors,  George,  in  the  time  of  the 
Revolution,  (by-the-by,  yours  were  a  set  of  dear,  honest 
old  creature's,  for  there  were  no  Abolitionists  then  among 
us,)  reminds  me  of  an  anecdote  about  George  Washington 
and  a  favorite  servant.  Billy  Lee  was  an  honest,  faithful 


276  AUNT   PHILLIS'S   CABIN;    OR, 

man,  and  a  first-rate  groom,  and  George  Washington — you 
need  not  blush  to  be  a  namesake  of  his,  though  he  was  a 
slaveholder. 

The  two  were  in  a  battle,  the  battle  of  Monmouth,  the 
soldiers  fighting  like  sixty,  and  Billy  Lee  looking  on  at  a 
convenient  distance,  taking  charge  of  a  led  horse,  in  case 
Washington's  should  be  shot  from  under  him. 

0,  but  it  was  a  hot  day !.  Washington  used  to  recall  the 
thirst  and  the  suffering  attendant  upon  the  heat,  (thinking 
of  the  soldiers'  suffering,  and  not  of  hk  own.)  As  for  Billy 
Lee,  if  he  did  not  breathe  freely,  he  perspired  enough  so 
to  make  up  for  it.  I  warrant  you  he  was  anxious  for  the 
battle  to  be  over,  and  the  sun  to  go  down.  But  there  he 
stood,  true  as  steel — honest,  old  patriot  as  he  was — quiet- 
ing the  horse,  and  watching  his  noble  master's  form,  as 
proud  and  erect  it  was  seen  here  and  there,  directing  the 
troops  with  that  union  of  energy  and  calmness  for  which 
he  was  distinguished.  Washington's  horse  fell  under  him, 
dying  from  excessive  heat ;  but  hear  Billy  Lee  describe  it : 

"Lord!  sir,  if  you  could  a  seen  it;  de  heat,  and  dust, 
and  smoke.  De  cannons  flyin,  and  de  shot  a  whizzin,  and 
de  dust  a  blowing,  and  de  horses'  heels  a  kickin  up,  when 
all  at  onct  master's  horse  fell  under  him.  -It  warn't  shot — 
bless  your  soul,  no.  It  drapped  right  down  dead  wid  de 
heat.  Master  he  got  up.  I  was  scared  when  I  see  him 
and  de  horse  go ;  but  master  got  up.  He  warn't  hurt ; 
couldn't  hurt  him. 

"Master  he  got  up,  looked  round  at  me.  < Billy,'  says 
he,  <  give  me  the  other  horse,  and  you  take-  care  of  the 
new  saddle  on  this  other  poor  fellow.' 

"Did  you  ever  hear  de  like?"  added  Billy  Lee,  "think- 
ing of  de  saddle  when  de  balls  was  a  flyin  most  in  our  eyes. 
But  it's  always  de  same  wid  master.  He  thinks  of  every 
thing." 

I  agree  with  the  humane  jurist  quoted  by  Mrs.  Harriet 


SOUTHERN   LIFE   AS   IT   IS.  27-7 


Beecher  Stowe  :  "  The  worst  use  you  can  put  a  man  to  is 
to  hang  him."  She  thinks  slavery  is  worse  still;  but 
when  "I  think  of  every  thing,"  I  am  forced  to  differ  from 
her. 

The  most  of  our  ^Southern  slaves  are  happy,  and  kindly     '. 
cared  for  ;  and  fdr-those  who  are.not,  there  is  hope  for  the 
better.     But  when  a  man  is  hung  up  by  the  neck  until  he 
is  dead,  he  is  done  for.    As  far  as  I  can  see,  there  is  nothing 
that  can  be  suggested  to  better  his  condition* 

I  have  no  wish  to  uphold  slavery.  I  would  that  evejy 
human  being  that  God  has  made  were  free,  were  it  in  ac- 
cordance with  His  will; — free  bodily,  free  spiritually — 
"free  indeed!" 

Neither  do  I  desire  to  deny  the  evils  of  slavery,  any 
more  than  I  would- deny  the  evils  of  the  factory  system  in 
England,  or  .the  factory  and  apprenticeship  system  in  our 
own  country.  I  only  assert  the  necessity  of  the  existence 
of  slavery  at  present  in  our  Southern  States,  and  that,  as 
a  general  thing,  the  slaves  are  comfortable  and  contented,  t. 
and  their  owners. humane  and  kind. 

I  have  lived  ,a  great  deal  at  the  North — long  enough  to 
see  acts  of  oppression  and  injustice  there,  which,  were  any 
one  so  inclined,  might  be  wrought  into  a  "living  dramatic 
reality." 

I  knew  a  wealthy  family.  All  the  labor  -of  the  house 
was  performed  by  a  "poor  relation,"  a  young  and  delicate 
girl.  I  have  known  servants  struck  by  their  employers. 
At  the  South  I  have  never  seen  a  servant  struck,  though  I 
know  perfectly  well  such  things  are  done  .  here  and  every- 
where. Can  we  judge  of  society  by  a  few  isolated  inci- 
dents? If  so,  the  learned  professors  of  New  England 
borrow  money,  and  when  they  do  not  choose  to  pay,  they 
murder  their  creditors,  and  cut  them  in  pieces !  or  men 
kill  their  sleeping  wives  and  children  ! 

Infidelity  has  been  called  a  magnificent  li«  !  Mrs.  Stowe's 

24 


278  AUNT    PHILLIS'S    CABIN;    OR, 

^"living  dramatic  r-eality"  is  nothing  more  than  an  inte- 
t  resting  falsehood;-  nor  ought  to  be  offered,  as  an  equivalent 
''for  truth,  the  genius  that  pervades  her  pages  ;•  rather  it  is 

to  be  lamented  that  the  rich  gifts  of  God  should  be  so 

misapplied. 

Were  the  exertions  of  the  Abolitionists  successful,  what 

would  be.  the -result?     The  -soul  sickens  at  the  thought. 

Scenes  of  blood  and  horror — the  desolation  of  our  fair 

Southern  States — the  final  destruction  of  the  negroes  in 

X  ® 

:  them.  This  would  be  the  result  of  immediate  emancipa- 
tion here.  What  has.  it  been  elsewhere  ?  Look  at  St. 
Domingo-.  A  recent  visitor  there  says,  "  Though  opposed 
to  slavery,  I  must  acknowledge  that  in  this  instance  the 
experiment  has  failed."  He  compares  the  negroes  to 
"  a  wretched  gibbering  set,  from  their  appearance  and 
condition  more  nearly  allied  to  beasts'  than  to  men." 
Look  at  the  free  colored  people  of  the  North  and  m 
Canada. 

I  have  lived  among  them  at  the  North,  and-  can  judge 
for  myself.  Their  "  friends"  do  not  always  obtain  their  af- 
fection or  gratitude.  A  colored  woman  saidj^o  me,  "  I  would 
rather  work  for  any  people  than  the  Abolitionists.  They 
expect  us  to  do  so-  much,  and -they  say  we  ought  to  work 
cheaper  for  them  because  they  are  « our  friends.'  '  -Look 
at  them  in  Canada*  An  English  gentleman  who  hag  for 
many  years  resided  there,,  and  who  has  recently  visited 
Washington,  told  me  that  they  were  the  most  miserable, 
helpless  human  beings  he  had  ever  seen.  In  <fact  he  said, 
"  They  were  nuisances,  and  the  people  of  Canada  would 
be  truly  thankful  to  see  them  out  of  their  country/-  He  had 
never  heard  of  "a  good  missionary"  mentioned  by  Mrs. 
Stowe,  "whom  Christian  charity  has  placed,  there  as  a 
shepherd  to  the  outcast  and  wandering."  He  had  seen 
no  good  results  of  emancipation.  On  one  occasion  he 
hired  a  colored  man  to  drive  him  across  the  country. 


SOUTHERN    LIFE  -  AS   IT   IS.  279 

"How  did  you  get  here  ?"  he  said  to  the  man.  "Are 
you  not  a  runaway?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  man  replied.   «  I  came  from  Yirginny." 

"  Well,  of  course  you  are  a  great  deal  happier  now  than 
when  you  were  a  slave?" 

"No,  sir ;  if  I  could  get  back  to  Virginny,  I  would  be 
glad  to  go."  He  looked,  too,  as  if  he  had  never  been 
worse  off  than  at  that  time. 

The  fact  is,  liberty  like  money  is  a  grand-  thing ;  but  in 
order  to  be  happy,  we  must,  know  how  to  use  it. 

It  cannot  always  be  said  of  the  fugitive  slave, — 

"  The  mortal  puts  on  immortality, 
When  mercy's -hand  has  turned  the  golden  key, 
-And  mercy's  voice  hath  said,  Rejoice,  thy  soul  is  free." 

The  attentive  readier  will  perceive  that  I  am  indebted  to 
Mrs.  Stowe  for  the  application  of  ttis  and  other  quota- 
tions. 

The  author  of  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin  speaks  of  good  men 
at  the  North,  who  "  receive"  afid  educate  the  oppressed" 
(negroes).  I  know  "lots"  of  good  men  there,  but  none 
good  enough  to  befriend  colored  people.  They  seem  to 
me  to  have  an  unconquerable  antipathy  to  them.  But 
Mrs.  StfSwe  says,  she  educates  them  in  her  own  family  with 
her  own  children.  I  am  glad  to  hear  she  feels  and  acts 
kindly  toward  tfyem,  and  I  wish  others  in  her  region  of 
country  would  imitate  her  in  this  respect ;  but  I  would 
rather  my  children  and. negroes  were  educated  at  different 
schools,  being  utterly  opposed  to  amalgamation,  root  and 
branch. 

She  asks  the  question,  "  WJiat  can  any  individual  do?" 
Strange  that  any  one  should  be  at  a  loss  in  this  working 
world  of  ours. 

Christian  men  and  women  should  find  enough  to  occupy 


280  AUNT   PHILLIS'S  CABIN. 


them  in  their  families,  and  in  an  undoubted,  sphere  .of 
duty. 

Let  the  people  of  .the  North  take  care  of  their  own 
poor. 

Let  the  people  of  the  South  take  care  of  theirs. 

Let  each  remember  the  great  and  awful  day  when  they 
must  render  a  final  account  to  their  Creator,  their  Re- 
deemer, and  their  Judge. 


THE  END. 


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COMPRISING  THE  MOST  EXCELLENT  AND  APPROPRIATE  PASSAGES  IN 

THE  OLD  BRITISH  POETS;  WITH  CHOICE  AND  COPIOUS  SELEC- 

TIONS FROM  THE  BEST  MODERN  BRITISH  AND 

AMERICAN  POETS. 

EDITED   BY   SARAH   JOSEPHA   HALE. 
As  nightingales  do  upon  glow-worms  feed, 
So  poets  live  upon  the  living  light 
Of  Nature  and  of  Beauty. 

Bailey's  Festus. 

Beautifully  illustrated  with  Engravings.    In  one  super-royal  octavo  volume,  in  various 

bindings. 

The  publishers  extract,  from  the  many  highly  complimentary  notices  of  the  above  valuable  and 
beautiful  work,  the  following  : 

"  We  have  at  last  a  volume  of  Poetical  Quotations  worthy  of  the  name.  .  It  contains  nearly  sir 
hundred  octavo  pages,  carefully  and  tastefully  selected  from  all  the  home  and  foreign  authors  of 
celebrity.  It  is  invaluable  to  a  writer,  while  to  the  ordinary  reader  it  presents  every  subject  at  a 
glance."—  Godey's  Lady's  Book. 

"  The  plan  or  idea  of  Mrs.  Kale's  work  is  felicitous.  It  is  one  for  which  her  fine  taste,  her  orderly 
habits  of  mind,  and  her  long  occupation  with  literature,  has  given  her  peculiar  facilities  ;  and  tho- 
roughly has  she  accomplished  her  task  in  the  work  before  us."  —  Sartatn's  Magazine. 

M  It  is  a  choice  collection  of  poetical  extracts  from  every  English  and  American  author  worth 
perusing,  from  the  days  of  Chaucer  to  the  present  time."  —  Washington  Union. 

*  There  is  nothing  negative  about  this  work  ;  it  is  positively  good."—  Evening  Bulletin. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GKAMBO  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  DIAMOND  EDITION  OF  BYRON. 
THE  POETICAL  WORKS  OF  LORD  BYRON, 

"WITH   A   SKETCH    OF   HIS   LIFE. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  NEAT  DUODECIMO  VOLUME,  WITH  STEEL  PLATES. 

The  type  of  this  edition  is  to  perfect,  and  it  is  printed  with  so  much  care,  on  fine  white  paper, 
that  it  can  be  read  with  as  much  ease  as  most  of  the  larger  editions.  This  work  is  to  be  had  in 
plain  and  superb  binding,  making  a  beautiful  volume  for  a  gift. 

"  The  Poetical  Works  of  Lord  Byron,  complete  in  one  volume  :  published  by  L.,  G.  <fc  Co.,  Phila* 
delphia.  We  hazard  nothing  in  saying  that,  take  it  altogether,  this  is  the  most  elegant  work  ever 
issued  from  the  American  press. 

" '  In  a  single  volume,  not  larger  than  an  ordinary  duodecimo,  the  publishers  have  embraced  th« 
whole  of  Lord  Byron's  Poems,  usually  printed  in  ten  or  twelve  volumes ;  and,  what  is  more  remark- 
able, have  done  it  with  a  type  so  clear  and  distinct,  that,  notwithstanding  its  necessarily  small  size, 
it  may  be  read  with  the  utmost  facility,  even  by  failing  eyes.  The  book  is  stereotyped  ;  and  never 
have  we  seen  a  finer  specimen  of  that  art.  Everything  about  it  is  perfect  —  the  paper,  the  print- 
ing, the  binding,  all  correspond  with  each  other ;  and  it  is  embellished  with  two  fine  engravings, 
well  worthy  the  companionship  in  which  they  are  placed. 

"  'This  will  make  a  beautiful  Christmas  present. 

"  We  extract  the  above  from  Godey's  Lady's  Book.  The  notice  itself,  we  are  given  to  understand, 
is  written  by  Mrs.  Hale. 

"  We  have  to  add  our  commendation  in  favour  of  this  beautiful  volume,  a  copy  of  which  has 
been  sent  us  by  the  publishers.  The  admirers  of  the  noble  bard  will  feel  obliged  to  the  enterprise 
which  has  prompted  the  publishers  to  dare  a  competition  with  the  numerous  editions  of  his  works 
already  in  circulation ;  and  we  shall  be  surprised  if  this  convenient  travelling  edition  does  not  in  a 
great  degree  supersede  the  use  of  the  large  octavo  works,  which  have  little  advantage  in  size  ana 
openness  of  type,  and  are  much  inferior  in  the  qualities  of  portability  and  lightness."  —  bitelbgencar. 


THE  DIAMOND   EDITION  OF  MOORE, 

(CORRESPONDING  WITH  BYRON.) 

THE  POETICAL  WORKS~OF  THOMAS  MOORE, 

COLLECTED  BY  HIMSELF. 

COMPLETE   IN  ONE  VOLUME. 

Tnis  work  is  published  uniform  with  Byron,  from  the  last  London  edition,  and  is  the  most  com- 
plete printed  in  the  country. 

THE  DIAMOND   EDITION  OF  SHAKSPEARE, 

(COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME,) 
INCLUDING  A.  SKETCH  OF  HIS  LIFE. 

UNIFORM  WITH  BYRON  AND  MOORE. 
THE   ABOVE   WORKS   CAN   BE   HAD   IN   SEVERAL   VARIETIES   OP   BIN1HNO. 

GOLDSMITH'S  ANIMATED  NATURE. 

IN    TWO   VOLUMES,   OCTAVO. 
BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED  WITH  385  PLATES. 

CONTAINING  A  HISTORY  OF  THE  EARTH,  ANIMALS,  BIRDS,  AND  FISHES ;  FORMING 
THE  MOST  COMPLETE  NATURAL  HISTORY  EVER  PUBLISHED. 

This  is  a  work  that  should  be  in  the  library  of  every  family,  having  been  written  by  one  of  the 
most  talented  authors  in  the  English  language. 

"  Goldsmith  can  never  be  made  obsolete  while  delicate  genius,  exquisite  feeling,  fine  invention 
the  most  harmonious  metre,  and  the  happiest  diction,  are  at  all  valued." 

BIGLAND'S  NATURAL  HISTORY 

Of  Animala,  Birds,  Fishes,  Reptiles,  and  Insects.    Illustrated  with  numerous  and  beautiful  Eugr** 

ings.    By  JOHN  BIGLAND,  author  of  a  "  View  of  the  World,"  "  Letters  on 

Universal  Hiatorv."  <k«.     Complete  in  1  vol..  12mo. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  POWER  AND  PROGRESS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES, 


THE  UNITED  STATES;  Its  Power  and  Progress. 

BY  GUII/LAUIYIE    TELL  POUSSIN, 

LATE  MINISTER  OF  THE  REPUBLIC  OF  FRANCE  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

FIRST  AMERICAN,  FROM  THE  THIRD  PARIS  EDITION. 
TRANSLATED  FROM  THE  FRENCH  BY  EDMOND  L.  DU  BARRY,  M.  D., 

SURGEON  U.  S.   NAVY. 

In  one  large  octavo  volume. 

SCHOOLCRAFT'S  GREAT  NATIONAL  WORK  ON  THE  INDIAN  TRIBES  Of 
THE  UNITED  STATES, 

WITH    BEAUTIFUL    AND    ACCURATE    COLOURED    ILLUSTRATIONS. 

HISTORICAL  AND  STATISTICAL  INFORMATION 

RESPECTING   THE 

HISTORY,  CONDITION  AND  PROSPECTS 

OF   THK 

Snbinn  Bribes  of  tin  IDniteb  JtaUs. 

COLLECTED  AND  PREPARED  UNDER  THE  DIRECTION  OF  THE  BUREAU  OF  INDIAN 
AFFAIRS,  PER  ACT  OF  MARCH  3,  1847, 

B3T  JIUNR-ST  R.  SCHQOLCRAFT,  LL.D. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  S.  EASTMAN,  CAPT.  U.  S.  A. 
PUBLISHED  BY  AUTHORITY  OF  CONGRESS. 


THE  AMERICAN  GARDENER'S  CALENDAR, 

ADAPTED  TO  THE  CLIMATE  AND  SEASONS  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES. 

Containing  a  complete  account  of  all  the  work  necessary  to  be  done  in  the  Kitchen  Garden,  Fruit 
Garden,  Orchard,  Vineyard,  Nursery,  Pleasure-Ground,  Flower  Garden,  Green-house,  Hot-house, 
and  Forcing  Frames,  for  every  month  in  the  year ;  with  ample  Practical  Directions  for  performing 
the  same. 

Also,  general  as  well  as  minute  instructions  for  laying  out  or  erecting  each  and  every  of  the  above 
departments,  according  to  modern  taste  and  the  most  approved  plans;  the  Ornamental  Planting  of 
Pleasure  Grounds,  i a  the  ancient  and  modern  style;  the  cultivation  of  Thorn  Quicks,  and  other 
plants  suitable  for  Live  Hedges,  with  the  best  methods  of  making  them,  (fee.  To  which  are  annexe 
catalogues  of  Kitchen  Garden  Plants  and  Herbs;  Aromatic,  Pot,  and  Sweet  Herbs;  Medicinal 
Plants,  and  the  most  important  Grapes,  <fcc.,  used  in  rural  economy;  with  the  soil  best  adapted  to 
their  cultivation.  Together  with  a  copious  Index  to  the  body  of  the  work. 

BY  BERNARD  M'MAHON. 
Tenth  Edition,  greatly  improved.    In  one  volume,  octavo. 


THE  USEFUL  AND  THE  BEAUTIFUL; 

OH,  DOMESTIC  AND  MORAL  DUTIES   NECESSARY  TO  SOCIAL  HAPPINESS, 

BEAUTIFULLY  ILLUSTRATED. 
16mo.  square  cloth.     Price  50  and  75  cents. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  FARMER'S  AND  PLANTER'S  ENCYCLOPEDIA, 

:'H  luifr  ;JJl(ratn:;0  dtottrlnpflStfl  nf  Utrriil  Sites* 

BY  CUTHBERT  W.  JOHNSON. 
ADAPTED  TO  THE  UNITED  STATES  BY  GOUVERNEUR  EMERSON, 

Illustrated  by  seventeen  beautiful  Engravings  of  Cattle,  Horses,  Sheep,  the  varieties  of  Wheat, 
Barley,  Oats,  Grasses,  the  Weeds  of  Agriculture,  <fcc. ;  besides  numerous  Engrav- 
ings on  wood  of  the  most  important  implements  of  Agriculture,  Sue. 

This  standard  work  contains  the  latest  and  best  information  upon  all  subjects  connected  with 
farming,  and  appertaining  to  the  country ;  treating  of  the  great  crops  of  grain,  hay,  cotton,  hemp, 
tobacco,  rice,  sugar,  <kc.  <kc. ;  of  horses  and  mules ;  of  cattle,  with  minute  particulars  relating  to 
cheese  and  butter-making;  of  fowls,  including  a  description  of  capon-making,  with  drawings  of  the 
instruments  employed ;  of  bees,  and  the  Russian  and  other  systems  of  managing  bees  and  con- 
structing hives.  Long  articles  on  the  uses  and  preparation  of  bones,  lime,  guano,  and  all  sorts  of 
animal,  mineral,  and  vegetable  substances  employed  as  manures.-  Descriptions  of  the  most  approved 
ploughs,  harrows,  threshers,  and  every  other  agricultural  machine  and  implement;  of  fruit  and 
shade  trees,  forest  trees,  and  shrubs;  of  weeds,  and  all  kinds  of  flies,  and  destructive  worms  and 
insects,  and  the  best  means  of  getting  rid  of  them;  together  with  a  thousand  other  matters  relating 
to  rural  life,  about  which  information  is  so  constantly  desired  by  all  residents  of  the  country. 
IN  ONE  LARGE  OCTAVO  VOLUME. 

MASON'S  FARRIER-FARMERS'  EDITION. 

Price,  62  cents. 

THE  PRACTICAL  FARRIER,  FOR  FARMERS: 

COMPRISING    A    GENERAL    DESCRIPTION    OP   THE    NOBLE   AND    USEFUL   ANIMAL, 

THE    HORSE; 

WITH  MODES  OF  MANAGEMENT  IN  ALL  CASES,  AND  TREATMENT  IN  DISEASE. 
TO    WHICH    IS    ADDED, 

A  PRIZE  ESSAY  ON  MULES  j  AND  AN  APPENDIX, 

Containing  Recipes  for  Diseases  of  Horses,  Oxen,  Cows,  Calves,  Sheep,  Dogs,  Swine,  <kc.  &c. 

BIT  RICHARD  BSASO2T,  M.  D., 

Formerly  of  Surry  County,  Virginia. 
In  one  volume,  12mo.;    bound  in  cloth,   gilt. 

MASON'S  FARRIER  AND  STUD-BOOK-NEW  EDITION, 
THE  GENTLEMAN'S  NEW  POCKET  FARRIER: 

COMPRISING  A  GENERAL  DESCRIPTION  OF  THE  NOBLE  AND  DSEFDL  ANIMAL, 

THE    HORSE; 

WITH  MODES  OF  MANAGEMENT  IN  ALL  CASES,  AND  TREATMENT  IN  DISEASE. 

BIT  RICHARD  REASON,  M.  D., 

Formerly  of  Surry  County,  Virginia. 

to  which  is  added,  A  PRIZE  ESSAY  ON  MULES ;  and  AN  APPENDIX,  containing  Recipes  tor 

i  Diseases  of  Horses,  Oxen,  Cows,  Calves,  Sheep,  Dogs,  Swine,  <kc.  <kc. ;  with  Annals 

of  the  Turf,  American  Stud-Book,  Rules  for  Training,  Racing,  &c 

WITH   A   SUPPLEMENT, 

Comprising  an  Essay  on  Domestic  Animals,  especially  the  Horse ;  with  Remarks  on  Treatment  aiw 

Breeding ;  together  with  Trotting  and  Racing  Tables,  show  mg  the  best  time  on  record  at  on* 

two,  three  and  four  mile  heats  ;  Pedigrees  of  Winning  Horses,  since  1K39,  and  of  the  most 

celebrated  Stallions  and  Mares;  with  useful  Calving  and  Lambing  Tables     By 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

HINDS'S  FARRIERY  AND  jiTUD-BOOK-NEW  EDITION. 
FARRfERY, 

TAUGHT  ON  A  NEW  AND  EASY  PLAN: 

BEING 

3,  tontfe  n  tjj?  SisrnsTH  nnfr  §rr8mmt0  nf  t JIB 

With  Instructions  to  the  Shoeing  Smith,  Farrier,  and  Groom ;  preceded  by  a  Popular  Description  of 
the  Animal  Functions  in  Health,  and  how  these  are  to  be  restored  when  disordered. 

BY  JOHN    HINDS,  VETERINARY  SURGEON. 

With  considerable  Additions  and  Improvements,  particularly  adapted  to  this  country, 

BY   THOMAS   M .    SMITH, 
Veterinary  Surgeon,  and  Member  of  the  London  Veterinary  Medical  Society. 

WITH  A  SUPPLEMENT,  BY  J.  S.  SKINNER. 

The  publishers  have  received  numerous  flattering  notices  of  the  great  practical  value  of  these 
works.  The  distinguished  editor  of  the  American  Farmer,  speaking  of  them,  observes: — "We 
cannot  too  highly  recommend  these  books,  and  therefore  advise  every  owner  of  a  horse  to  obtain 
them." 

"There  are  receipts  in  those  books  that  show  how  Founder  may  be  cured,  and  the  traveller  pur- 
sue his  journey  the  next  day,  by  giving  a  tablcspoonful  nf  alum.  This  was  got  from  Dr.  P.  Thornton, 
of  Mbntpelier,  Rappahannock  county,  Virginia,  as  founded  on  his  own  observation  in  several  cases." 

"The  constant  demand  for  Mason's  and  Hinds's  Farrier  has  induced  the  publishers,  Messrs.  Lip- 
pincott,  Grambo  &  Co.,  to  put  forth  new  editions,  with  a  '  Supplement'  of  100  pages,  by  J.  S.  Skinner, 
Esq.  We  should  have  sought  to  render  an  acceptable  service  to  our  agricultural  readers,  by  giving 
a  chapter  from  the  Supplement,  'On  the  Relations  between  Man  and  the  Domestic  Animals,  espe- 
cially the  Horse,  and  the  Obligations  they  impose  ;'  or  the  one  on  'The  Form  of  Animals;'  but  that 
either  one  of  them  would  overrun  the  space  here  allotted  to  such  subjects." 

"  List*  of  Medicines,  and  other  articles  which  ought  to  be  at  hand  about  every  training  and  livery 
•table,  and  every  Fanner's  and  Breeder's  establishment,  will  be  found  in  these  valuable  works." 


TO  CARPENTERS  AND  MECHANICS. 

Just  Published. 


A  NEW  AND  IMPROVED  EDITION  OF 

THE  CARPENTER'S  NEW  GUIDE, 

BEING  A  COMPLETE  BOOK  OF  LINES  FOR 

ARPENTRY  AND  JOINERY; 

Treating  fully  on  Practical  Geometry,  Saffiv's  Brick  and  Plaster  Groins,  Niches  of  every  description, 

Sky-lights,  Lines  for  Roofs  and  Domes :  with  a  great  variety  of  Designs  for  Roofis, 

Trussed  Girders,  Floors,  Domes,  Bridges,  &c.,  Angle  Bars  for  Shop 

Fronts,  <kc.,  and  Raking  Mouldings. 

ALSO, 

Additional  Plans  for  various  Stair-Cases,  with  the  Lines  for  producing  the  Face  and  Falling  Mould* 
never  before  published,  and  greatly  superior  to  those  given  in  a  former  edition  of  this  work. 

BY   WILLIAM  JOHNSON,   ARCHITECT, 

Of    PHILADELPHIA.. 

Tht  whole  founded  on  true  Geometrical  Principles ;  the  Theory  and  Practice  well  explained  and 
fully  exemplified,  on  eighty-three  copper  plates,  including  some  Observations  and  Calculations  on 
the  Strength  of  Timber 

BY    PETER     NICHOLSON, 

<jt   "The  Carpenter  and  Jouier's  Assistant,"  "The  Student's  Instructor  to  ttie  Fto* 
Orders."  <fca 

Thirteenth  Edition.     Oiv?  volume,  4to.,  well  bound. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

A  DICTIONARY  OF  SELECT  AND  POPULAR  QUOTATIONS, 

WHICH  ARE  IN  DAILY  USE. 

TAKEN  FROM  THE  LATIN,  FRENCH,  GREEK,  SPANISH  AND  ITALIAN  LANGUAGES. 

Together  with  a  copious  Collection  of  Law  Maxims  and  Law  Terms,  translated  into 

English,  with  Illustrations,  Historical  and  Idiomatic. 

NEW  AMERICAN  EDITION,  CORRECTED,  WITH  ADDITIONS. 
One  volume,    12mo. 

Thh  volume  comprises  a  copious  collection  of  legal  and  other  terms  which  are  in  common  use, 
Vith  English  translations  and  historical  illustrations;  and  we  should  judge  its  author  had  surely 

een  to  a  great  "  Feast  of  Languages,"  and  stole  all  the  scraps.  A  work  of  this  character  should 
have  an  extensive  sale,  as  it  entirely  obviates  a  serious  difficulty  in  which  most  readers  are  involved 
by  the  frequent  occurrence  of  Latin,  Greek,  and  French  passages,  which  we  suppose  are  introduced 
by  authors  for  a  mere  show  of  learning  —  a  difficulty  very  perplexing  to  readers  in  general.  This 
"  Dictionary  of  Quotations,"  concerning  which  too  much  cannot,  be  said  in  its  favour,  effectually 
removes  the  difficulty,  and  gives  the  reader  an  advantage  over  the  author ;  for  we  believe  a  majority 
are  themselves  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of  the  terms  they  employ.  Very  few  truly  learned  authors 
will  insult  their  readers  by  introducing  Latin  or  French  quotations  in  their  writings,  when  "plain 
English"  will  do  as  well ;  but  we  will  not  enlarge  on  this  point. 

If  the  book  is  useful  to  those  unacquainted  with  other  languages,  it  is  no  less  valuable  to  the 
classically  educated  as  a  book  of  reference,  and  answers  all  the  purposes  of  a  Lexicon  — indeed,  on 
many  accounts,  it  is  better.  It  saves  the  trouble  of  tumbling  over  the  larger  volumes,  to  which 
every  one,  and  especially  those  engaged  in  the  legal  profession,  are  verv  often  subjected.  It  should 
have  a  place  in  every  library  in  the  country. 

RUSCHENBERGER'S  NATURAL  HISTORY, 

COMPLETE,     WITH    NEW    GLOSSARY. 

i  (Bbttunts  nf  MiiUual  It 

EMBRACING   ZOOLOGY,  BOTANY  AND  GEOLOGY; 

FOR  SCHOOLS,  COLLEGES  AND  FAMILIES. 
BIT  W.  S.  W.  RUSCHENBEKGEH,  M.  D. 

IN    TWO    VOLUMES. 

WITH  NEARLY  ONE  THOUSAND  ILLUSTRATIONS,  AND   A   COPIOUS    GLOSSARY. 
Vol.  I.  contains  Vertebrate  Animals.    Vol.  II.  contains  Intenxrtebra.lt  Animals,  Botany,  and  Geology. 

A  Beautiful  and  Valuable  Presentation  Book. 


THE    POET'S    OFFERING. 

EDITED  BY  MRS.   HALE. 

With  a  Portrait  of  the  Editress,  a  Splendid  Illuminated  Title-Page,  and  Twelve  Beautiful  Engrav- 
ings by  Sartain.    Bound  in  rich  Turkey  Morocco,  and  Extra  Cloth,  Gilt  Edge. 
To  those  who  wish  to  make  a  present  that  will  never  lose  its  value,  this  will  be  found  the  most 
desirable  Gift- Book  ever  published. 

"  We  commend  it  to  all  who  desire  to  present  a  friend  with  a  volume  not  only  very  beautiful,  but 
of  solid  intrinsic  value." — Washington  Union. 

"A  perfect  treasury  of  the  thoughts  and  fancies  of  the  best  English  and  American  Poets.  The 
paper  and  printing  are  beautiful,  and  the  binding  rich,  elegant,  and  substantial ;  the  most  sensible 
and  attractive  of  all  the  elegant  gift-books  we  have  seen."  —  Evening  Bulletin. 

"  The  publishers  deserve  the  thanks  of  the  public  for  so  happy  a  thought,  so  well  executed.  The 
engravings  are  by  the  best  artists,  and  the  other  portions  of  the  work  correspond  in  elegance."  — 
Public  Ledger. 

"  There  is  no  book  of  selections  so  diversified  and  appropriate  within  our  knowledge."— Pennsylv'n 

"  It  is  one  of  the  most  valuable  as  well  as  elegant  books  ever  published  in  this  country."  —  Godey't 
Lndifs  Book. 


LIPPINCOTT,  GRAMBO  &  CO.'S  PUBLICATIONS. 

THE  YOUNG  DOMINICAN; 
OR,  THE  MYSTERIES  OF  THE  INQUISITION, 

AND  OTHER  SECRET  SOCIETIES  OF  SPAIN. 
BY  M.  V.  DE  FEREAL. 

WITH  HISTORICAL  NOTES,   BY  M,  MANUEL  DE  CUENDIAS 

TRANSLATED   FROM    THE    FRENCH. 
ILLUSTRATED  WITH  TWENTY  SPLENDID  ENGRAVINGS  BY  FRENCH  ARTISTS 

One  volume,  octavo. 

SAY'S  POLITICAL  ECONOMY, 

A  TREATISE  ON  POLITICAL  ECONOMY; 
Or,  The  Production,  Distribution  and  Consumption  of  Wealth. 

BIT  JEAN   BAPTISTS   SAY. 

FIFTH   AMERICAN   EDITION,   WITH    ADDITIONAL   NOTES, 
BY  C.   C.    BIDDLE,    ESQ. 

In  one  volume,  octavo. 

It  would  be  beneficial  to  our  country  if  all  those  who  are  aspiring  to  office,  were  required  by  then- 
constituents  to  be  familiar  with  the  pages  of  Say. 

The  distinguished  biographer  of  the  author,  in  noticing  this  work,  observes :  "  Happily  for  science 
he  commenced  that  study  which  forms  the  basis  of  his  admirable  Treatise  on  Political  Economy ;  * 
work  which  not  only  improved  under  his  hand  with  every  successive  edition,  but  has  been  translated 
into  roost  of  the  European  languages." 

The  Editor  of  the  North  American  Review,  speaking  of  Say,  observes,  that  "  he  is  the  moat 
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